Employee of the Year
by Dead Decoy
Summary: Mike finds himself alone in the pizzeria when Freddy and the other robots must undergo a system diagnostic that leaves them offline for a full 24 hours. However, the underpaid guard's night to himself brings about something far darker than a motley band of misfit metal mascots.
1. Chapter 1

**_Freddy Fazbear's Pizza_**

**3:27 AM**

Another night at Freddy Fazbear's. The sole, grimy light bulb in the center of the ceiling of the security office had been turned off, and only a soft, blue glow emitted from the center of the room.

In front of the glow was Mike Schmidt with his ever-trusty security laptop, providing his only source of light, along with his only source of keeping tabs on the rest of the building.

Mike tapped the screen once, cycling to the camera to the supplies closet. Static filled the screen for a brief moment before the cameras switched, showing only another barely-functioning light bulb along with an assortment of brooms. He wondered why he even bothered checking it; only the rabbit ever went in there, and even then, only rarely.

Before he could press the screen again, a loud clang of metal hitting the floor sounded to his right. He looked up toward the door, then back to the camera as he switched to the kitchen. The camera gave him only a black screen with the words:

**-CAMERA DISABLED-**

**AUDIO ONLY**

He could hear the banging of pots and pans, kitchen cabinets opening and closing, and what even sounded like the stove being turned on. Chica was in there for certain, doing God-knew-what. Mike sighed and pressed the screen again, going to the West Hall camera.

The hallway was empty. Only the checkered floor and creepy kid's drawings showed up on frame, so Mike—

"Wait a minute," he breathed. At the end of the hallway he could always see those glow-in-the-dark stars that were stuck on the walls, yet one of them was mysteriously missing.

Something was standing in front of it.

He didn't have to ponder the mystery for long when the figure sprinted ahead, hook raised and mouth agape. The fox closed the distance to his office with incredible speed. Before Mike even had time to look away from his camera, it was already at the door.

The animatronic leaned into the office, its metal jaw opening at an impossible angle as its unearthly screech pierced Mike's skull.

"**Shit!**" Mike screamed, jumping out of his chair. The chair was knocked over as the guard flew out of it, one armed raised over his eyes as he hit the floor.

The room was deathly quiet, save for the tiny desk fan as it futilely attempted to cool the stuffy pizzeria.

Then, laughing. Grinding, metallic laughing that echoed through the entire building.

"Yar har har har har!" Foxy bellowed, his metal mouth opening and closing with the guffaws.

Mike pulled away his arm and grabbed the desk for support. "Goddamnit Foxy," he muttered as he pulled himself up.

Foxy mimed the act of brushing away a tear with his hook as he answered in a hollow, glitchy voice. "O-oh, I don't fathom that's ever g-g-goin' t' get old. "

When he was back up, Mike picked his overturned swivel chair and sat back on it, looking up at the mascot that towered over him. "Maybe to you."

Foxy shrugged, his eyelids partly closing. "Oh, don't b-b-be on about that, lad. Remember how fun t' first time was?"

Mike rolled his eyes; _that _was a memory he could have gone without.

It was his 2nd week at Pizzeria when it happened. According to the manager, he had stayed on longer than any of the previous guards, an achievement he wasn't particularly proud of. Still, he needed to pay the rent, and whether he liked it or not, there weren't many opportunities around. At that point he had even gotten slightly cocky, thinking he'd basically figured out the patterns to all four of the robots. All for naught when Foxy rushed him as soon as the shift started, getting into the office and screaming so loud Mike thought his heart had stopped.

After several minutes on the floor with his eyes shut, he realized he wasn't dead or being dragged off to be stuffed in some suit. When he opened them, all four of the robots were standing over him.

Freddy picked him up, dusted him off, and explained to the terrified guard they had been attempting to chase him away, like they had every guard for the last five years, so they could be left alone at night. However, Mike's refusal to quit along with Foxy and Chica's admittance they'd even grown sort of attached to him, forced the truth out.

Mike was thrilled he wasn't going to die, but still had objections over them apparently killing the previous guard that had left him messages on the phone, which was solved when Freddy did a perfect imitation of the call Mike had gotten on the first night. Usually by the fifth night, them "murdering" phone guy was enough to scare everyone else off.

So, the robot's dispositions toward him improved considerably, although Foxy still wasn't above charging the office and scaring the shit out of Mike for laughs.

"I'mma be guessin' that Scallywag's been t-t-tellin' ya 'bout tomorrow, aye?" Foxy asked as Mike picked the laptop back up. Scallywag was how Foxy referred to Freddy Fazbear; it made sense, considering how Foxy was Freddy's "nemesis" in the pizzeria's promotional material.

Mike shook his head. "I haven't talked to Freddy all night. What's this about tomorrow?"

Foxy leaned on the doorway. "Yar. Well then, 'bout every f-f-five months, we be goin' offline fer a whole day or so to run d-d-d-D-d-diagnosticin'. 'Tis automatic n' everything, so thar be not much we can do 'bout it."

"So...?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Startin' around five, we be turnin' off. Won't come back on until 'bout five on th' 'm-m-morrow."

"And?"

"It means you'll be alone the whoooole night, Mr. Schmidt!" a trill, tinny voice sounded from behind him. Mike spun around to see Chica in the doorway with a stale breadstick in one of her metallic hands. She bit down on it, most of the crumbs simply spilling out of her mouth.

"Don't mean t-t-to scare ye or nothin'," Foxy continued, "but this place can be gettin' a measure timber-shiverin' at night."

"...Really."

Foxy put down his eyepatch."Sarc-c-casm be for landlubbers, ye know." He looked up at the digital clock on the back wall of the office. "Well, I b-best be shovin' off now," he said, turning about and walking back to Pirate's Cove, all the while humming a sea shanty to himself.

Mike turned around to Chica. "You going back too?"

The chicken crushed the rest of the breadstick with her secondary set of teeth. "You kidding? I still got another hour and a half's worth of eating!"

Chica headed back to the kitchen, leaving Mike alone once again. With nothing else to do, he continued his cycling through the camera. Freddy was standing around in the Dining Area, prompting Mike to switch to the backstage camera. The screen was immediately filled with a wide and menacing set of teeth.

"Nice try, Bonnie," he muttered, switching to another camera.

* * *

><p><strong>4:56 AM<strong>

The night continued apace, with everyone except Chica eventually returning to their daytime positions. He could still hear the chicken clanging around in the kitchen, probably trying to get some last-minute eats in. When it hit 4:59, the kitchen suddenly fell deathly silent. He switched to the West Hall camera just in time to see her running at full speed back to the stage area. At the end of the hallway she tripped, her bulky frame hitting the ground with a deafening smash. She recovered surprisingly quickly, bounding up to the stage and assuming her normal pose with only seconds to spare.

Mike looked back at the clock. 5:00 AM. He stared at the stage for a while, but none of the trio moved.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his flashlight and slowly walked out into the East Hall, towards the dining area. Once there, he scanned the room once with the light, checking once again to see if they had changed position. If this was a setup to some dumb prank, he silently swore he'd turn them into scrap.

All three of the band were still locked in their poses, ready to play music and dance for the daytime crowd as soon as they were finished doing their diagnostic. Mike made his way onstage and waved a hand in front of Freddy with no reaction. He shrugged, then moving over to the Pirate's Cove and poking his head inside the curtains. Sure enough, Foxy was there, sitting down. Mike braved poking his nose to try and get a rise out of him, but like Freddy, the pirate did nothing.

"Huh. Guess you were telling the truth," Mike said. He turned around and headed back to the office, somewhat grateful that at least the night wouldn't have any more surprises.

After another hour, the 6 o' clock bell rang to signify his shift was over. He went for the main exit and saw the manager's car parked out front. A squat, pale man with a cheap suit was already stepping out, and he beamed with he made eye contact with Mike.

"Hey hey hey, there's my star employee!" the manager said excitedly as he walked toward the tired guard. "So I came early to tell you that tonight might be just a tiny bit different than what you're used to."

"That right?"

The manager nodded. "Yesiree! See, Freddy and his gang shut down about every five months to do a sort of self-scan...thing. Sadly, that means they won't be playing today. They'll also be really still tonight, so be careful around them, okay? Don't want them tipping over or anything."

Mike almost told him that he already knew, but stopped himself lest it invite questions. Not that it mattered; he was pretty sure the manager either knew Freddy and co. were alive but never said anything, or was in denial about it.

"I'll keep that in mind, sir."

The man clapped his hands together and gave Mike a nervous smile. "Neat! Alright then, have a good night tonight!" he said, walking past him and into Freddy Fazbear's.

Mike gave the pizzeria a sideways glance before walking off. He could already see the lights being turned on and hear the godawful music starting to play on the PA system. He turned back, shaking his head as he walked off.

"Knew I should have finished high school."

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Author's Note: God help me, I'm actually writing a FNAF fanfic. Reviews appreciated and such.]<em>**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Freddy Fazbear's Pizza**_

**11:55 PM**

It was a quiet night, unlike any other. All the employees had gone home, leaving only Freddy Fazbear and his ragtag gang to watch over the pizzeria. They stood perfectly still, offline and completely oblivious to the world around them.

The doors to the restaurant clicked, and the knob slowly began to turn. After a brief pause, it opened, and Mike Schmidt, with his ever-present blue security jacket and cap, walked in with a steaming cup of coffee. He locked the door behind him, something he wouldn't have done for a billion dollars just a few short months ago.

He had to go through the dining area to get to his office, and caught sight of the animals on stage.

Mike gave them a weary smile, raising his cup. "Hey guys."

They remained as they were, acting like normal animatronics for once.

The guard took a sip of his coffee and made his way down the West Hall, keeping an eye over his shoulder just in case Foxy tried something funny. Once in his office, he sat down in the chair, relaxing.

He looked back at the clock. 11:58. He always wondered if Freddy and the others were actually incapable of moving until midnight, but it didn't matter much either way nowadays. If Foxy was right, they'd turn back on at 5 at any case, so at least they'd be able to see him off.

With only the desk fan and the creepy cupcake doll to keep him company, Mike settled in for a hard, dutiful night's work.

* * *

><p><strong>12:39 AM<strong>

Mike Schmidt had dozed off. The only reason he woke up at all was when the coffee he had been holding slipped out of his hand and onto his lap, soaking his pants. He jumped up with a shout, whipping his head back and forth before looking down at his stained crotch. He relaxed a bit, now cursing himself for bringing coffee to work. The security laptop was still sitting on his desk, and he scooted over to pick it up. Thumbing through the cameras, he saw that none of the gang had moved at all.

As none of the mechanical terrors were screwing around, Mike took that as his cue to make his way to the bathroom in search of something to dry off with. He took his flashlight with him, still nowhere near brave enough to confront the pizzeria's darkness by himself.

It was a short walk to the men's room, and once inside Mike fumbled around for a paper towel.

**WHIIIIRRRRR**

Mike nearly dropped his light as he spun around, heart beating out of his chest. He was greeted with a sheet of brown towel paper in front of him; he had walked in front of the towel dispenser's sensor and set it off.

The guard rolled his eyes, snatched the paper out of the machine, and dabbed his pants with it.

He strolled back to the security office and once again took his seat. As he propped up his legs on the desk, he noticed a newspaper laying on it. It had probably belonged to the day security guard who hadn't even bothered throwing it away.

It gave him something to read, so he leaned over and picked it up, hitting a small switch on the underside of the desk to turned on the ceiling light. He straightened up the paper and began to scan the black and white pages.

There wasn't much to read about. Something about elections going on in Canada, a guy growing a giant pumpkin, and a recent string of local thefts. He took interest in the thefts, and read the story with a little more interest. Apparently, there'd been some late-night break-ins the town over, where someone was forcing the doors and taking any money they could, along with whatever wasn't nailed down.

"Great. Another thing to be paranoid about," he grumbled.

He looked up to the cupcake sitting on the desk. "What do you think?" he asked in a nonchalant voice.

The cupcake, of course, said nothing.

"Yeah, me too," Mike answered, returning to his reading.

He took his time to go through the rest of the local news and rather colorful letters to the editor. He had only the comic strips to spare, softly chucking at the shenanigans of the lasagna-eating cat and giant great dane, and every so often leaning over to check on the show stage camera.

_tink._

Mike lowered the newspaper. A low sound, barely audible over the buzz of the fan, came from the front of the building, far too quiet to have been a chair falling over or something. Mike stood up, folding the paper under his arm.

He flipped through the cameras, checking all the rooms. Freddy and the others hadn't inched, and there wasn't anything else out of the ordinary.

_tink._

The sound came again, but he still couldn't pinpoint the source. When he arrived at the kitchen camera, it showed the same message it always did. For a moment was confused why there wasn't any banging or crashing before he remembered where Chica was.

_Tink._

Louder, and it came through the laptop's speaker as well. Whatever it was, it was in the kitchen.

He'd been in there a few times before. Chica always wanted an "assistant" to help her bake various abominations against the pizza gods, and once he tried to see if he could fix the camera. Long story short, he couldn't, and Chica told him a fascinating tale about how she lost her grip on a rolling pin once and it flew right into the lens, smashing it into a million pieces; it was a miracle the camera worked at all.

He put the paper down in his chair."Hold down the fort, alright?" he asked the cupcake as he left his office, flashlight in hand.

_tink._

The guard paced himself slowly. As he rounded the corner, he took notice of a broom setting up against the wall. He grabbed it with his free hand, holding the makeshift weapon out in front of him.

He came upon the large swinging double-doors of the kitchen, offwhite with peeling paint and two large circle windows on each one. He stood on his toes to try and find the source of the sound without going inside, but to no avail.

_tink._

He pushed one of the doors with the end of his broom, guiding in open, its old, rusty joints groaning in protest. The room was slightly better lit than most of the restaurant at night, as most of the kitchen stoves and ovens had lights of their own that stayed on as long as they were plugged in.

"Hello?" he asked the blackness, half-expecting Freddy's glowing face to appear in some dark corner.

_Tink._

He turned toward the source of the sound, broom at the ready.

One of the high, rectangular windows greeted him, the ones that nearly touches the ceiling. An old, gnarled tree outside swayed peacefully in the nighttime breeze, one of its evil-looking branches steadily tapping against the glass.

_tink. _

Mike set the broom against the wall. "Why do they even have windows in here?" he asked aloud. He honestly didn't want to know the answer; horrifying robots aside, he was pretty sure the pizzeria probably violated every building code ever written.

The Mystery of the Sound solved, he headed back to his office. When he was back inside, he checked the clock to see it was about 3 AM. At the very least, the newspaper and his little adventure into the kitchen had killed some time, and it meant there was only two more hours until the mascots turned back on. Mike knew Foxy was being a smartass when he said it, but he was right: the pizzeria _did_ get creepy when there was no-one around. Oh well, he thought, at least he wouldn't have to put up with it much longer.

As he picked up the newspaper to finish off the comics, the ambient lights flickered slightly. Mike leaned over to the laptop to check the battery supply; it was at 70 percent, more than enough to last the whole shift. He sighed and chalked it up to crappy wiring.

A little while later, the lights flickered again, a bit more strongly. Mike forced down his paper and gave an annoyed grunt. "Now what?"

Going into the kitchen was one thing, but he _really _wasn't looking forward to a trip to the backstage area, where the breaker was. All those empty heads and that suitless endoskeleton gave him the creeps.

He waited a few minutes to see if the lights would flicker again. When no more interruptions came, he let out a sigh of relief.

"Good. No way in hell I'm—"

The fan stopped, the lights went off and the world around him was plunged into blackness as the building's power died.

Mike sat in the dark room for a second. He could still barely make out the outline of the cupcake on the desk, and turned toward it.

"No no, it's my fault. I just had to jinx us," he said.

Once more he stood up and walked out of the office. He reluctantly trodded ahead, the flashlight's beam of light as his only source of illumination.

With careful steps, he guided himself to the iron door of the backstage area and grasped the knob tightly. With a tightened lip, he opened it, casting his light into the cramped door.

His entire body shuddered as he saw an eyeless, toothless Bonnie head facing him on the other side of the room, on a shelf. Chica and Freddy heads were strewn about haphazardly on the shelves as well, some overturned, some ripped apart and some in pristine condition. On the table laid 'Bones', the name Foxy had given the unprogrammed metal endoskeleton. According to Freddy, it wasn't alive like they were, but the manager refused to sell it or toss it out, so it kept taking up space, making Mike uneasy every time he saw it on camera and giving Foxy, quote, "the willies."

Mike gave the room a once-over, trying to remember where exactly the breaker box was. He found it to his left, adjacent to the door. It was hard to open with one hand; the hinges were rusted over. Putting the flashlight in his mouth, he grabbed the small metal door with both hands and braced his foot against the wall. With a strained growl, the breaker box opened, slamming against the wall with a clash.

He picked the flashlight out of his mouth and studied the breaker switches to see which one of them had tripped. Going down the line, it seemed every one was fine until he arrived at the bottom: a bright, red switch had been thrown the other way. He flicked it into its original position.

Nothing.

Mike buried his face in one hand. "Just what I need."

Grabbing hold of the switch, he flipped it back and forth a few more times for good measure until accepting that he was probably gonna be without power the rest of the night. With sulked shoulders, he reached over to open the door back to the dining area.

_**SMASH!**_

The sound of shattering glass exploded from the dining area. Mike instantly backed away, his breathing already becoming quick and shallow. Just a few seconds later, he heard the main doors to the pizzeria being forced open, then followed by the sound of crunching glass. He could see dim lights showing from the crack under the backstage door.

He closed one eye, looking through the gap between the door and the wall. He made out two figures stepping through the ruined main doors. They both carried flashlights and appeared to be dressed with black clothes and wearing ski masks, the bigger of the two had a sledgehammer hefted over his shoulder. The smaller man stood out in front, and Mike swallowed when he saw the glint of a gun in the man's hand.

The smaller man turned to the larger one. "We cut the power, but try and find the security office. Sometimes the silent alarms got their own battery supply."

The other criminal nodded and began walking down the East Hall, sledgehammer still in hand.

A few moments later, he heard a deep voice call out from the direction of his office. "Hey!"

"What?"

"I think I found the office. There's a newspaper and computer and everything. Some coffee, too. I think the asshole's still here."

"Really now?" the smaller criminal asked. He lifted his gun arm, walking over to his office as well.

Mike's mind raced. It couldn't be anywhere close to 5 AM yet. He couldn't run for the exit, they'd just gun him down. They must have thought he was hiding somewhere in his office. If he was quiet about it, maybe he could sneak past him, find some way to call the police. Yeah, that could work...

He saw the flashlight beams and the dark figures come back into the dining area.

"Well, he ain't in there," the armed man said.

"Maybe he's on the pot."

"Yeah, go che—"

He saw the man's head turn toward him, staring straight at him through the crack in the door. Mike stumbled away from the door, panicking. How could he have known?

Mike's question was answered as soon as he looked down on his right hand; he was still holding his flashlight and it was still on. The intruder must have seen the light coming from the backstage room.

He heard muffled footsteps making their way to his room, stopping right in front of the door. Then, a sharp series of knocks of metal against metal pounded from the door.

"Hey!" the man growled, "We know you're in there. Just come on out."

Mike struggled the answer, the words dying in his throat. His legs gave way and his hit the floor with a thump, scooting to the back end of the wall, his flashlight hitting the ground. The force of impact made its cheap plastic casing fly apart, the batteries flying out of the cartridge as the room went dark.

An annoyed groan came from the other side of the door. "Kick it open."

There was a pause. The door then flew open. Mike was momentarily blinded from the a flashlight directly in his eyes. He reflexively raised a hand, only lowering it when the light came forward. He saw the two criminals standing over him, ski masks and dark fabric under them making both the men look more like monsters than burglars.

The shorter one raised his gun right at Mike's head.

"Hey. So, we have a few questions for you."

"Shoot," Mike replied automatically.

The man gave a low chuckle. "Funny." He motioned toward the other man, who placed his hammer on the side of the wall. He walked over to Mike, grabbed him by his shoulders, picking him up and forcing him against the wall. The man with the gun stepped forward, lowering the gun slightly.

"I'll make this simple: You tell us where they keep the money. We take the money. We don't spread your brains all over the floor."

"I-I—" Mike stammered.

"Yeah?"

"I don't know where we keep the money. I don't know if we even have a safe."

The man holding Mike switched his gaze toward his partner-in-crime, who gave him a nod. The brute turned back and kneed Mike in the stomach, _hard. _The force of the blow knocked his hat off, and he began to cough violently.

"Look, I used to work at a place like this. And I know for a fact that when it gets robbed, it's in the guidelines that you simply nod and hand the money over. Playing dumb isn't going to make you a hero, man. Make this easy on yourself."

Mike spat up a few more hacks before he was able to regain his breath. After a few labored wheezes, the armed man sat his flashlight down on the table, withdrawing a small square object from his pocket. He walked forward until he was as close to Mike as his partner was.

Even through the ski mask, Mike could tell he was scowling."The. Safe. Just tell us where it is. Otherwise— "

The man pressed a button on the side of the object. The room filled with a light blue glow and white sparks danced in front of Mike's face, the buzz of the electricity sounding like a swarm of locusts in his head.

"—I'm going to shock you with this until you're on fire."

Mike eyes darted about as he looked for a way out. The man leaned in, bringing the stun gun ever closer to his face.

"The janitor's closet," Mike lied. "It's in the closet. I don't know the combination."

A tense silence followed, and the guard closed his eyes to brace for the shock.

"Not the first place I'd put a safe, but alright," the man said. Mike opened his eyes to see the criminal had backed off with his weapon.

He turned to other, "All right, gonna go crack it. Hold him down until I get back." Then he shot a glare at Mike. "If you're lying I'm coming right back here and putting one between your eyes."

Turning around, he handed the taser over to the larger man and walked out. The man simply stuffed it in his own pocket, preferring to hold down Mike with his own strength. As the footsteps faded away, Mike quickly tried to formulate a plan. He saw the man had only just barely placed the taser in his pocket; it stuck out quite a ways.

Mike coughed out a request. "Could you...stop crushing my throat?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay then," Mike replied in a dejected tone. He relaxed, and his defeated stature seemed to make the large man drop his guard slightly.

In one swift motion, Mike's hand snaked out to the robber's side and grabbed the taser, pulling it out of his pocket. By sheer luck, he managed to turn it one before the man reacted, grabbing Mike's arm and bending it backwards. Mike grunted, using his free hand to hit the man straight in the nose, knocking his head back.

They tumbled sideways, hitting the table and falling on Bones. The active taser in Mike's grasp hit the endoskeleton and the room filled with the smell of burning metal and hydraulic fluid as the man raised both of his arms to pound Mike in the chest. Mike lunged forward, hitting the man square in the shoulder with an electric shock. He yelped in pain, stumbling backwards, but recovered surprisingly quickly and hobbled over to grab his sledgehammer.

Mike was already upon him, forcing the taser into the man's neck. The man's entire body convulsed as the electric current overloaded his nervous system, and he fell away from the weapon, unconscious and twitching.

His attention switched to the running he heard down up the hall, quickly making its way toward the backstage room.

The other burglar was shouting.

"Phil! What the hell happened!?"

As soon as he was sure the man was in front of his door, he used his shoulder to force it open. He saw a dark outline jump backwards from the door. He used the moment of confusion to lunge forward with the taser, but the man ducked, bringing up his gun to fire. Thinking fast, he threw it straight and the weapon made its mark, hitting the man in the eye. The howled in pain, letting out a string of curses and dropping his gun.

Mike scrambled forward, sprinting toward the exit, running around the party tables and chairs in an arc. When he was halfway to the door, a shot rang out and his left leg erupted in pain. His body simply stopped. He collapsed over the chairs in front of him and began to yell at the top of his lungs, clutching his leg. It was warm, wet, and getting wetter by the second as his heart pumped more and more blood out the wound.

Clenching his teeth to get through the pain, he saw the man walking over to him with the smoking gun in one hand. His breathing was quick and heavy, a mix of adrenaline and rage. He stomped over to Mike, mashing the gun into his forehead.

"You had to be the hero. Had to be STUPID. And now you—"

**_"Walk the plank,_**" a rough, hissing voice said behind him.

"Exactly. You're—"

The man stopped mid-sentence, slowly turning around. Mike weakly lifted his head to see two glowing white eyes in the darkness, looking down on the robber. The man took two slow steps back, his knees shaking

"Oh...oh god," he whimpered, dropping his gun.

Mike saw the glimmer of a hook swing upwards. The man screamed when it tore into his shirt, stopping near his throat. The robot lifted the squirming man off his feet as if he weighed nothing while the man continued to spit out half-formed, fearful jibberish. As he struggled, three more sets of glowing eyes appeared behind the first.

The pirate fox's teeth gleamed in the dark, twisting into a crooked frown. "_**Ye picked the w-wrong place to pl-pl-plunder, ye lilly-livered scab. Now we're g-g-gannae keelhaul ya."**_

The man was pulled back into the darkness, his screams growing louder and louder as he begged for mercy. The screams were the last thing Mike heard as the blood loss took its toll; his eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp, the world fading to black.

* * *

><p>The first thing to return to Mike was his eyesight, however poor it was. Soft blue and red flashes came into his consciousness, slowly alternating between the two. His sense of pain returned to him next, and he wished it hadn't. The sharp, intense pain had been replaced with a dull, throbbing pain that was almost as bad.<p>

His eyes fluttered open, and he heard speaking.

"He's waking up!" a voice cried, and he heard a soft click. A bright light invaded his retinas, and his vision began to clear. A man with pale blue shirt and white gloves was staring into his eyes with a small pen light, studying them intently.

Mike tried to get up, but the man placed a hand on his chest.

"Hey there, don't move so fast. You're lucky to be alive."

The words practically plopped out of Mike's mouth. "Wha? What? Where am I?"

The man pointed toward himself. "Paramedic, sir. You lost a lot of blood when you got shot. I don't know how you managed to bandage yourself up before passing out, but it saved your life."

Bandage? He was conscious barely three minutes before he passed out. "Bandages?"

The man smiled."Not the best first aid I've seen, but considering you took down a dude twice your size before doing it, I'll let it slide."

As he became more aware of his surroundings, Mike realized where he was. He was on a stretcher, just outside an ambulance. The blue and red flashing was from a nearby police car. A cop was busily talking to his manager, jotting down everything he said on a small notebook.

The policeman looked up and pointed toward Mike, prompting the manager to look over as well. When he saw Mike was awake, he ran over.

"Schmidt! Schmidt!" he cried, getting as close as he could before the other paramedic stopped him.

"Sir, you're gonna need to stop right here."

Mike held up a hand. "It's alright. I know him."

The paramedic look back and shrugged, waving the manager through. He hovered over Mike, his hair a complete mess and his tie completely undone.

"Schmidt! Oh thank God you're okay."

"I'm alive," Mike answered back. "But I'm not quite sure what happened."

The manager put his arms down to his sides. "Well, you stopped all those robberies that've been happening, for starters."

"Huh?"

"Someone called 911 after hearing gunshots coming from here, and when the cops got here, they find you and the robber on the floor. I don't know how you did it, but...holy shit Schmidt. You're the best."

Mike considered his praise, but something bothered him. "Wait. I got jumped by two robbers. Uh, the big guy? He wasn't the one that shot me."

"Yeah, the cops said there's supposed to be two of them. What happened to the other one?"

Mike opened his mouth, but immediately closed it. "I don't know. He must have run off when he shot me."

"They'll catch him. He's probably running scared now!" the manager laughed nervously, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Look, don't worry about the hospital bill. I've got you covered."

"Thanks, Mr. Brown."

The manager shook his head. "Please, call me Ralph. You've earned it," he said. He gave a weak smile then walked back to the cop to complete his interview.

The paramedics climbed into the ambulance and began to load his stretcher inside. As they did, he got one last look at the pizzeria. Beyond the large front windows, he could clearly see the dining area, along with the show stage and the curtains of Pirate Cove. When everyone else had their back turned and the paramedics began to close the ambulance doors, he saw Foxy stick his head out and look straight at him. He gave Mike a firm salute with his hook, holding it under the doors were closed.

* * *

><p><span><em><strong>Freddy Fazbear's Pizza<strong>_

**11:58 PM**

**Three weeks later**

Mike fumbled with the keys, trying to remember which one opened the main doors. They'd been replaced, with stronger glass and more complicated locks. After some struggle, he found the key that fit in the lock, turning it and limping inside. He was going to head straight for his office, eager to sit down and take the weight off his injured leg, but something in the dining area caught his eye.

The cupcake, the one that always sat on his desk, for some reason was centered on one of the tables. We walked over, one eyebrow raised.

"Huh?" he said, ready to pick it up until he stopped himself when the pieces clicked.

He lifted his head, and smiled. "I missed you guys too."

Bright lights filled the stage, and he turned to see the entire gang standing in front of it.

"Welcome back, Mike!" they shouted in unison.

Before he had time to reply, Chica ran over and picked up him, hugging him so tightly he thought he might snap in half.

"Mr. Schmidt!" she cried. "You got shot and we didn't see you for so long and I thought I did a good job wrapping your leg but—"

Mike slammed an arm against her shoulder. "Chica! Can't! Breathe!"

"Oh. Sorry," she said, relaxing her grip and setting him down gently.

He found a chair to sit down in, relaxing and taking his cap off. "What have you guys been up to?"

"Not much," Freddy answered. "It's been kind of boring without you, and Mr. Brown was dead-set about not hiring anyone else to replace you."

"Not that he'd find anyone, mind," Bonnie said. "Rumors about killer robots are one thing, but actual robberies are even worse."

Mike leaned in. "Yeah, about that. What did you guys actually do to the guy that shot me?"

Freddy lowered his heavy iron brows. "You know that thing you thought we were going to do to you?"

"Yeah?"

There was a beat, then Mike's eyes widened. "Ooooooh."

"Yep," Bonnie said.

Foxy raised his eyepatch. "Arr, ye're a lucky lad that it r-reached five before that landlubber sent you to th' l-locker. We gettin' privateered also ma-made the Cap'n serious about the night watch for once. Replaced the b-b-b-b-B-b-whale oil n' everything. Cost him a pretty piece o' eight, from w-what I 'ear."

"So no more blackouts!" Chica cheered.

"Yay!" Mike replied with with a forced cry. He'd probably be a lot more excited if he wasn't so dopey from the painkillers.

"You know," Freddy said, "we haven't spent the last three weeks just standing around."

"Hm?"

The lights shut off, and when they came back on, Freddy and the others were on stage, their instruments ready. Even Foxy was there, and he had somehow managed to procure himself an accordion.

"Hit it!" Freddy yelled, and they began playing a ballad in Mike's honor.

He sat back and enjoyed the show, smiling all the while.

Yet, something in the back of his mind gnawed at him. Something bothered him on a deep, primal level, and he just couldn't shake the feeling. Foxy accidentally ripped open the accordion with his hook, and the feeling was gone, buried under Mike and the gang's laughter.

Whatever it was, it probably wasn't important.

* * *

><p><strong><em>[Author's Note: Yeehaw! It might seem like the end, but this train ride ain't over yet. <em>**

**_Just wanna say I really appreciate the feedback I've gotten so far. Stay tuned, folks!]_**


	3. Chapter 3

_**[Happy Halloween, folks!]**_

* * *

><p><span><em><strong>Freddy Fazbear's Pizza<strong>_

**2:41 AM**

The robbery had been the talk of the town for quite a while after it had been thwarted. The story of Mike Schmidt stopping the criminals cold became more and more exaggerated as the months went by; the two criminals became six, Mike Scmidt survived a shot to the chest instead of a leg wound, or he lifted one of the robots above his head and beat the robbers into submission with it.

The one constant to every version of the story was that he was woefully unappreciated for his actions. While the manager did make good on his word to pay Mike's hospital bill and upgraded the building's power supply, very little else changed in the time following the guard's return to work. He was never even told if the pizzeria actually did had a safe.

With his legs propped up on the desk as he read a magazine, Mike Schmidt's job had mostly returned to normal. The only real thing he had done since the break-in was yell at two teenagers for teepeeing the dead tree outside, but it wasn't like he was bored. Ever since the power supply got upgrade to something that wasn't straight out of the Stone Age, he could actually afford to play the arcade machines without losing power at one in the morning. For whatever reason, Freddy was _really_ good at Ms. Pac-Man.

One thing he had added to his routine was the inclusion of a small radio on his desk. There wasn't much to listen to during his shift, mostly infomercials and religious programming. However, he did find some amusement in a radio show that always on extremely early in the morning. The people on the show talked about everything from UFOs to ghosts and everything in-between. He found it funny; these people were talking about the supernatural when he lived it every night.

"Mike?"

He looked up from his literature, not even flinching when he saw Bonnie standing in the doorway, his endo-skeletal pupils showing through the holes in his head.

"You seen my spare set of eyes?"

Mike returned to his magazine. "Same place you always leave them, Bonnie."

The robot stood there for a second before hitting his forehead, making a "duh" sound, walking off toward the closet.

As Bonnie walked off, Mike continued to listen to the radio show. The host had just gotten done talking with an "expert" on Martians, and announced that he was taking calls from listeners. That was usually Mike's favorite part of the show: people tended to call accusing various governmental agencies about hiding evidence of UFOS. If it wasn't that, then usually were hysterical about what was obviously bad plumbing or a creaky ceiling in their house, but attributed it to ghosts and thought it was so haunted it needed an exorcism from the Pope.

"Alright," the host said in his calm, slightly sleepy-sounding voice, "the lines are now open, and we're taking calls. I can see we've already got one ready, so we're gonna go ahead and put him through. We'll call him "Joe". Hello Joe, you're on the air. Whatcha got for us?"

"Uh, hi," a quivering, drunken and strangely familiar voice answered, "I have a story involving the...supernatural."

"Lay it on me, Joe."

Mike closed his magazine, taking his legs off the desk and leaning in. He _knew_ he'd heard that voice somewhere.

"Um. Yeah," the voice said, "I have a friend who, uh, works at this place."

"Yes?" the host inquired.

"It has some problems."

"Like what?"

"Well, my friend thinks there's something going on there that's really, really bad."

"What makes your friend think that?"

Mike's magazine fell right out of his hands. "Oh my God," he mouthed. As quick as he could, he sat up from his chair, grunting from the brief flash of pain that shot through his bad leg. He picked up the radio, holding it in both hands as he walked towards the dining area.

"Guys!" he yelled, "You're not gonna believe this!" he said when he left the office.

Freddy turned his head from arcade machine he was currently dominating, eyebrows raised. Bonnie struck his head out of the closet with only one eye inside his head, holding the other. Foxy was sitting on the stage, sharpening his hook with a piece of flint (Mike had no idea where he got it) and looked up, setting the flint down and lifting his eyepatch.

Mike walked over to the center party table and sat the radio down.

Foxy jumped off the stage. "What's g-gotten into ye, lad? You been d-d-drinking saltwater?"

"Listen!" Mike replied, grabbing the volume knob and turning it all the way up.

"—and that was before I even started working there," the voice said.

"Fascinating," the host answered, "For those just joining us, I have a caller here describing a paranormal experience his friend had at a place of work. So when exactly did the occurrences start, Joe?"

"Almost immediately. I—my friend said he should have known something was weird on account of how easy he got the job."

"Is that...Mr. Brown?" Freddy asked.

"By J-Jones, I think it be," Foxy replied.

Mike was sure of it now, the caller on the show was none other than his manager. He was obviously tired and quite inebriated, but his voice was now unmistakable.

"So what happened when your friend started work there?" the host asked.

"Well, um. My friend got hired into the managerial position of this place, so he wasn't actually there most of the time. But he had to, uh, you know, interact with the employees that were there. Specifically, he kept getting complaints from the night shift."

Chica finally brought up the rear, striding into the dining area with half a discarded pizza slice hanging out her mouth. "Hey guys! Whatcha listening t—"

She was cut off by everyone turning toward and shushing her before turning back to the radio.

What sounded like the manager taking a swig from a bottle garbled out of the radio before he spoke again.

"So my friend starts getting these really disturbing complaints. Lights turning on and off, voices in the building when nobody else was there, stuff moving when you weren't looking at it, that sort of thing."

"Hey, I think he's talking about us," Chica piped in.

"Ye just n-now figurin' that out, ye gl-gl-glutton?"

"Guys!" Freddy interceded, holding up one of his massive hands, "Shut it for second. I want to hear this."

"That sounds really upsetting," the host replied to his caller, his voice neutral and smooth.

"Uh huh," the manager said, "but the last straw came when my friend was going to the place one day and the security guard just up and quits, right there on the spot. Didn't even bother getting his last paycheck. So my friend just hires another guard, but the same thing happens."

Freddy nodded at Mike."Yeah, we went through a lot 'em before we got to you."

Mr. Brown's voice became more and more slurred with each sentence. "He finally managed to get one of them to say why they kept quitting and you're not gonna believe this: he said some of the...uh, mascot statues would move around on their own at night. Even tried to kill them. My friend still works there. He's got a guard right now that has balls of steel but he's afraid what'll happen if something goes wrong. What if those things catch him, man? The blood'll be on my—my friend's hands."

Bonnie threw his arms up. "We only _acted_ like we were going to kill them!"

"Especially that one that stole my bib," Chica added.

Mike shook his head. "You know, I've always thought Mr. Brown knew you guys were alive but was just in denial about it."

"Arr, that's w-what I've always been thinkin', too."

"Well, whatever," Mike grunted, turning down the volume as he heard the host gracefully switch to the next caller, "can't say this changes much, other than I guess I know Ralph's an alcoholic now."

"Oh," Freddy said, "before I forget. Tomorrow we'll be shutting down again for our system diagnostic. Just letting you know beforehand this time."

"Right. I'll put an ad in the paper."

"You're such a pessimist, Mr. Schmidt!" Chica said, shoving the pizza slice back into her mouth. "No bad guy's gonna come within 100 miles of this place after last time!"

"A 1000, if they know what's good for them," Mike said. "Alright guys, I guess that's it. I'm gonna have a chat with Ralph in the morning."

Freddy and Bonnie shrugged, returning to their business while Foxy went back to the stage and resumed his sharpening. Chica still stayed where she was, looking at Mike.

"What?"

"So...I have a great idea for a pizza."

"Chica, I still have burns from the last 'great idea' you had."

"Please?"

"No."

Mike heard her voice module make a deep inhaling sound. She let out a long "pleaaaaase?", continuing far, far longer than any human would be capable of. She kept going until Mike rolled his eyes and said yes.

"Hooray!" she shouted, "Now before we start I gotta warn you, this idea involves cinnamon. A lot of cinnamon. Like, weaponized amounts of it."

Resigning himself to death-by-cooking, Mike followed the mechanical chicken to the kitchen to help create her latest monstrosity.

* * *

><p><strong>6:05 AM<strong>

To Mike's surprise, he was still alive at the end of the night, having survived Chica's "Cinnamon Supreme" that would have probably landed him at The Hague had he tried to feed to an actual person. He was just outside, locking the main doors behind him when he heard a car pull into the parking lot. Turning around, he saw it was Mr. Brown's car. The manager didn't even park in his spot correctly when he got out of his car with dark circles around his eyes and smelling faintly of booze.

"Hey, Mike, how ya doin'?"

"Pretty good. Uh, is everything okay?"

The manager laughed weakly and a little too long before answering. "Yep. Uh huh. Just wanted to let you know that that Freddy and the gang are gonna be doing that system scan thingie again tonight, starting at five."

"That right?"

"You'll, uh, you'll be fine though. I mean, at least Freddy and the gang won't get into trouble, right?"

"Why would they do that?"

"Because they—you know, don't have to worry about them breaking down on your watch, or something?"

"Oh, okay."

Mr. Brown turned around to get back in his car, but Mike stopped him with a raised hand.

"Hey, Ralph?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"You know how I have a radio in my office now?"

"Okay?"

"Well, sometimes I listen to a little show called City to City in the Morning. Someone called the host there and he sounded a lot like you."

The manager's already pale skin drained in color just a bit more. "Huh. Well. Small world."

"And he had some really interesting things to say about a place his 'friend' worked at. Something about a lot of security guards quitting and mascots moving around on their own. Ralph, was that you?"

"Um. Well. There's a lot of places that have high turnover and—"

Mike sighed. "Ralph, I think it's time we both stopped pretending."

The man leaned on his car, bringing up a hand to pinch his brow. "Mike, I, I don't know what to tell you. I was drunk. I didn't, I wasn't thinking right. I was talking crazy stuff, you know, exaggerating."

Mike walked foward, looking both ways to see if anyone was around before whispering to his boss. "Look. I know that they're alive."

Ralph pressed him lips together and let out a ragged breath. "How do you do it, Mike? Everyone else quit in a week. It's a miracle nobody's gotten hurt so far. I don't know why they didn't hurt you after you got shot."

"Is that what this is all about?" Mike asked, stepping back. "You actually think they're dangerous?"

Ralph's face turn red. "Of course they're dangerous, Mike! You don't have to work there for an hour to know that! For God's sakes, is this why you've stayed on so long? You think they're playing some kind of game with you?"

"Well, they were."

"The _hell_ does that mean?"

"They're actually pretty nice once you get to know them."

"Nice? You—once I had to stay in there overnight to do paperwork. The goddamn bear snuck into the office and nearly bit my face off!"

"It's just an act, Ralph."

"What are you getting at?"

"The only reason they act they way they do at night is so they can be left alone."

"And you know this...how?"

"Freddy told me."

"He _talked_ to you? All he did was scream at me! Him and the damn fox."

"Just hear me out: they're not a threat if you treat them right."

An awkward silence ensued, as Ralph looked into Mike's eyes for any sign of dishonesty. Eventually, he spoke.

"I'm gonna make a guess here: they had something to do with the fact the cops never found that other robber."

"Yeah, they killed the shit out of him. Probably because he hurt me."

Another pause, and a slight grin came to the man's face. A weak chuckle followed. "Heh. Now it makes sense."

"What does?"

"The Bite of '87."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask about that for a long time. What happened?"

Ralph opened the door to his car and leaned inside, his top half disappearing for a second. He then appeared with a small tin flask, and took a drink from it.

"Well, back in the day, the pizzeria was making a lot more money. So, one day it hired this guy that was basically a drifter. He'd wear a Freddy costume and show up to birthday parties away from the restaurant and stuff, where the robots couldn't go, obviously."

He took another drink and continued. "Well, one day he was here and lured five kids backstage. Killed 'em, and worse."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah. Trial was really high profile. I don't know how, but he managed to get one hell of a defense attorney. Argued that since they never found the bodies, the case had to be dropped. Final verdict was not guilty by reason of insanity. He spent about two years in the loony bin then got set loose."

"And then what?"

"He came right back here. Just walked in around noon like nothing had ever happened. Of course, that was back when the pirate still had a show going. Foxy took one look at him, I'm guessing he somehow realized who he was, jumped off the stage and charged him. I think you know what happened next."

Another drink. "Clinically brain-dead. Since he didn't have a next of kin, nobody ever came around to tell the hospital to pull the plug. Last I heard, he's still there."

"That's a hell of a story."

"And you're sure they killed that robber?"

"Freddy told me himself."

"Well then. Between that and the Bite, I guess that means they only attack if provoked. Huh."

He stared off into space for a while, just watching the clouds go by until he shook himself back to clarity and looked at Mike.

"You know, I knew you were eventually gonna confront me about the robots. I wasn't looking forward to it. But what after you told me? Like someone took a mountain off me."

Mike put a thumb over his shoulder. "I could introduce you, if you like."

Ralph laughed again, actual genuine laughter. "No, no thank you. They seem to like you, for whatever reason. I don't wanna come between you. Besides, I still think they're creepy."

He put the flask in his pocket and got back into his car.

"I'm gonna go home and lie down a while. Think some things over. Before I go: if you are honest-to-God on speaking terms with the animatronics, tell Freddy I'm sorry about hitting him with that lead pipe."

"I'll do that."

With a wave, the manager started his car and pulled out of the parking lot, leaving Mike standing alone on the concrete.

* * *

><p><span><em><strong>Freddy Fazbear's Pizza<strong>_

**5:05 AM**

"Five o' five and all's well," Mike muttered as soon as he saw the time change on the clock.

So far, it had been an uneventful night. Freddy and the others didn't stray too far from the dining area, knowing they'd have to be back by the time their diagnostic started. About a minute until five they took their places, giving Mike one last wave through the camera before freezing into their original positions.

Just to be safe, Mike got up from his chair, grabbing his light and walking down the hall, shining his torch all across the room. Everything looked to be in order, and he returned to his office to listen to the radio. When he came back, he still felt uneasy. While Chica was right and the chances of them getting robbed again on the same night where Mike was alone were slim to none, he still felt slightly paranoid and did something he hadn't done in a while. With a few movements, he pressed the large button on both sides of his office, the doors shutting quickly with a muffled hiss.

It brought back memories, to be sure. His first few nights, frantically checking the cameras to see who was close to his office, screaming himself hoarse when he saw Bonnie or Chica just outside, seeing Foxy running down the hall and shutting the door just in time, vivid hallucinations brought on by sleep deprivation and fear...

Oh, those were the good old days.

He turned the dial on the radio, switching to an early-morning weather channel. He idly tapped through the camera feeds while listening to the report.

The weatherman's voice was upbeat, but with a twinge of caution."For the tri-county area, I'm gonna tell you right now: get your ponchos and umbrellas ready because it's gonna pour. Tomorrow night we'll be seeing several inches of rain, continuing until around mid-day, with scattered showers for the rest of the week."

He was going to be by himself in the pizzeria on what would literally be a dark and stormy night. He chuckled at the cliché, tuning the rest of the report out and concentrating on the camera.

There wasn't anything to write home about, of course. The halls were empty, the kitchen feed was still broken, and the lifeless endoskeleton backstage was still staring into the camera.

Wait, _what!?_

Mike's heart skipped a beat and he switched back, looking up from laptop for just a split second to check if both doors were sealed.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him when he saw Bones was splayed out over the table, in the same position as ever. Just to be sure, he checked the other cameras then went back to the backstage one; the endoskeleton remained as it was. His heartrate returning to normal, Mike put down the laptop and decided that he needed a vacation.

Besides, he'd earned it.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Freddy Fazbear's Pizza**_

**5:45 AM**

Once again, Mike wanted to lynch the weatherman. The rain that was predicted to hit mid-day had begun before his shift had even ended. The storm announced itself with a roar; a huge lightning bolt striking nearby as the sheets of rain began to roll in. Blue skies became black, eaten by the evil-looking clouds that now dominated the sky.

It wouldn't have bothered Mike all that much except that he didn't have a car; he was going to have to go out in that mess to get home. As he considered his options on what would be the closet thing to a dry route back to his apartment, the phone began to rang.

He recoiled away from the phone in surprise. Nobody ever called the phone on his shift, except that one time a stoner tried to order a pizza from him at four in the morning. For a second, he believed it might even be a pre-recorded something Freddy left him as a joke. It better be something good, he thought, the demonic voice trick was old hat.

He leaned over and picked up the receiver, holding it to his ear with one shoulder.

"Hello Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, where all your dreams and nightmares come true," he said.

An amused laugh answered him, followed by the slightly slurred voice of his manager. "Hey, Mike. It's Ralph. You gotta minute?"

Mike was shocked to hear his boss' voice, and removed his feet from the desk. "Ralph? It's 5:45 in the morning. What are you doing up?"

"Uh, well, I've been sleeping on and off of the day. After what you told me, well...anyway, you looked outside?"

"Yeah, it's crazy out there."

"News is calling it the storm of the year. No way in hell is anyone coming into work, and I know you're probably not looking forward to going out in that."

"What are you getting at?"

"I'm saying the pizzeria's closed today. Could you do me a huge favor and just stay over? Make yourself some coffee, take a nap, I don't care. Just stay there until this clears up. And I don't want to make you paranoid or anything, but you might lose power before it's done. They're predicting some pretty strong gusts later today."

"Yeah, I can stay over. Not like I got anything better to do."

"Awesome. Well, I won't keep you. See ya later."

"Bye," Mike said, hanging up the phone and leaning back in his chair. Overtime was overtime and if the storm lasted the whole day, he was looking at a pretty nice bonus. And since the boss pretty much gave him permission to sleep on the job, he planned to do so on one of the tables, just for the hell of it.

He wasn't sleepy yet, and he'd read his magazine twice over. Another low roll of thunder echoed from outside, the flash from the lightning briefly lighting the interior of the pizzeria.

Mike tossed away his magazine and got up from his chair, popping his stiff back and neck a few times before giving his own office a quick inspection. Yep, nothing was on fire. With little else to do, he decided to check on the rest of the building, grabbing his flashlight and heading into the relative darkness of the hallway.

As he shined his light down the hall, he felt a tiny surge of fear when he saw his light flash off a jagged row of teeth in the distance. A split second later he calmed himself, realizing it was just the flashlight shining off Foxy's muzzle, his head still somewhat visible through the Pirate's Cove curtains. Walking about Freddy Fazbear's, everything seemed to be in order. The gang hadn't moved one iota.

"No shows today, guys," he informed the inactive mascots. He don't know why he told them; he was pretty sure they were unconscious and not simply aware but unable to move.

He checked the bathrooms, hallways, and kitchen, leaving only the backstage to explore. He wasn't looking forward to it; the memory of Bones staring right at him through the camera gave him goosebumps, and he shuddered despite himself.

Mike repeated to himself that it was just his imagination. Besides how much weird crap did he imagine when he first started working there? It was just his exhausted brain telling him he needed some R&R, that's all. Sufficiently motivated, he walked over to the backstage and turned the knob. He stuck his flashlight in first, getting a bearing on the room before entering.

Unsurprisingly, the room was still creepy. It was still the same as it was on the night of the robbery, empty heads still lining the shelves, their black holes gazing into nothingness. One of heads, a Chica one, was lying on the floor on its side. By chance, he had seen it roll off the shelf on camera earlier in the night, hitting the ground with a clang so loud he heard it all the way from his office.

He walked over to the metal head casing, picking it up with some strain and setting it back on the shelf. The guard dusted his hands off, smiling.

"Good as new," he said, turning around for the door.

As he turned, he noticed something. Bones was still still on the table, but he caught a detail of the table itself that had eluded him until then. He crouched down, trying to get a better look.

A lock. He found himself staring at a large, sliding door on the side of the table, closed shut. He turned the small knob and jiggled it.

It was open.

He pushed the door away, and was immediately hit with a large cloud of dust and old cobwebs, prompting him to recoil, coughing and spitting. As the dust cleared, a deep, earthy and quite pungent smell washed over him, filling the entire room. It almost made him gag, and he brought an arm up over his nose to keep himself from hurling. He leaned back down with the flashlight in his free hand, peering into the cabinet he had just opened.

Freddy gazed back at him. Only it wasn't Freddy; the face that started at him was a deep, sickly yellow, with abyssal holes where there should have been eyes. Its mouth was seemingly twisted into a deep scream, the complete opposite of Freddy's constant goofy grin.

Mike stumbled back a bit, hand trembling as he struggled to hold the flashlight. After the face didn't lunge out at him and try to eat his brains, he relaxed a bit, leaning in closer to get a better look. The face continued to stare at him with missing, accusing eyes, but that didn't stop him from poking his head into the cabinet.

To the side of the head were what looked like a Freddy Fazbear suit, but colored the same as the head. The smell was almost overpowering around the suit. Mike could tell the it was in a state of extreme neglect, blotches of mold and rot apparent even in the low light.

He stood up to get a breath of fresh air for a moment, before leaning back down to the mysterious costume. Setting the flashlight on the floor, he reached out both of his hands to grab the golden-yellow Freddy head. After a few strained grunts, he managed to wrestle the head free of the cabinet, falling backwards onto his behind. Mike cradled his prize, now able to freely inspect the hidden mascot head.

The first thing Mike noticed about the "Golden Freddy" head was that it felt a whole lot lighter than the standard mascot heads. Picking up his flashlight and shining it inside, he saw why. While the normal robot heads had a variety of gizmos and gears on the inside designed to help them fit on the endoskeleton, the head he held was completely hollow. He suspected the same would be true of the suit. He continued to flash his inside, attempting find any more clues as to why it was locked away.

Then, at the very top of the inside of the head, there was a small, taped piece of paper.

_"Property of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza_

_1986"_

Well _that_ was helpful. He was sure that the suit would be a lot harder to wrestle and would give him even fewer answers, so he decided to push the head back into the cabinet, shutting it closed. Walking out of the backstage room, he headed back to his office, his mind full of questions. Why did they put that suit down there? Why was it hollow? Why didn't they just throw it out?

Mike's curiosity got the better of him. As soon as he was back into the office, he picked up the phone, dialing Mr. Brown's home phone and waiting at the dial tone sounded. After the fourth ring he heard it being sloppily picked, followed by an annoyed and tired mumble.

"Yeah?" Ralph's voice came over the receiver.

"Hey, Ralph?" Mike asked.

He heard a cough and some movement over the phone. Ralph talked again, his voice much more polite. "Oh, hey Mike. Everything going good over there?"

"Yeah. Hey, I got a question for you."

"Alright."

"I was in the backstage area when I found a cabinet door on the table in there. Opened it and found this really old and yellow Freddy suit. Just wanted to know if it's junk or something."

A pause.

"For God's sakes, I thought they threw that thing out."

"What is it?"

Ralph exhaled. "You remember what I told you about the Bite? The drifter they hired?"

"Yes?"

"That was his suit. I thought we burned the damn thing after the police gave it back to us."

"Guess we didn't."

"Crap. Now I might have to come over and haul the thing off, weather be damned. I want that thing gone."

"You sure? I'd hate for you to get into a wreck over this."

"This storm's gonna give me about the only opportunity I can sneak the thing off without people knowing about it. _Really_ don't want people knowing we kept the costume of a kid-killer for years."

"Well, at least wait until the weather dies down. Going out there right now would be suicide."

Another pause.

"Yeah, you're right. I know I'm asking a lot, but could you stay there until tonight? I'll wait and see if the rain slacks off and go borrow my dad's pickup truck. See if I can't take it to the dump."

"I'll be here."

"Thanks," Ralph said, sounding genuinely grateful. "Also, I'd stay away from it until I get there. That costume's probably a straight-up biohazard from being cooped in that cabinet for so long."

"I bet. I left it where it was."

"Alright. Hey, since you're gonna be there all day, I keep a bottle of Crown Royal in the security desk."

"The desk's locked."

"Key's under the fan. I'll be over when I can. Thanks. Bye."

Mike heard Ralph hanging up, followed by the dead tone. Hanging the phone up, he reached over and lifted the small desk fan with one hand, revealing a small key underneath. He put the fan back, taking the key and unlocking the the sealed drawer to his right. With a click, the key turned and Mike pulled the drawer open.

Ralph had lied. There wasn't a Crown Royal in the drawer, but there were bottles of about every other kind of drink imaginable. Mike was beginning to think that Mr. Brown had a problem. Still, he'd given him the go-ahead to raid his stash and he intended to raid it thoroughly.

He picked out one of the more expensive-looking bottles, a blue glass bottle adorned with fancy artwork on the front. Pulling off the cork, he wasted no time wasting time.

* * *

><p><strong>12:01 PM<strong>

Mr. Brown never arrived, leaving Mike Schmidt to obliterate about half the alcohol. After wandering away from the office, he found himself onstage, talking to the deactivated animatronics for no particular reason. The storm had only gotten worse outside, drowning out everything in a never-ending torrent.

"I lovesch you guys," he mumbled, one arm hung around Bonnie. He took a drink from his bottle and released his grip, stumbling for a second before sitting down at the end of the stage, facing the robotic band.

"You know," he explained, "you weirdosh are the closest things I have to friends." He was pretty sure what he was saying was just the booze talking, but couldn't bring himself to shut his trap. He raised the bottle toward Chica with a half-smile.

"Thanks for teaching my how to cook," he said to the chicken. 'Teach' probably wasn't the right word, more like observing all the horrible things she did to food and doing to exact opposite whenever he tried to make something at home.

He went silent, staring into his bottles as he recalled his memories with the robots. Though he would never admit it, he enjoyed his cooking sessions with the literal Iron Chef. Bonnie's electric guitar wasn't just for show, and he was currently in the process of teaching Mike how to play. Foxy even taught him how to tie about three dozen varieties of knots, a feat made all the more impressive by the fact that the pirate only had one hand. Freddy, as always, kept the peace between all of them whenever they argued or bickered. When he wasn't doing that, he usually was happy to play games of Chess with Mike. The guard didn't know where he got the chess board and he didn't ask.

Really, after they stopped scaring the bejeezus out of him, they were more than happy to consider him one of the 'gang'. One night, he arrived slightly late for work to find Freddy holding something behind his back. He and the others presented him a gift, a token of their friendship and something to commemorate his employment at Freddy Fazbear's for one year. He never went anywhere without it. He set the bottle down, digging around in his pockets until he found the treasure, pulling it out and looking at it as best he could in the dim light of the stage area.

It was a button, about as big around as a baseball. Blue in color, it showed cartoon versions of Chica, Bonnie and Freddy. Foxy was in the background, wearing a full pirate's coat and swinging in from a rope. All the mascots were grinning widely, with Freddy giving the thumbs up. At the bottom were a few words:

_"Freddy Fazbear's Pizza_

_Employee of the Year!"_

Chica had found the button under the stove in the kitchen. They searched and searched, but could never find any more like it. Mr. Brown never mentioned ever giving an Employee of the Year award, or even of the Month, which made the button all the more unique, likely a relic of the pizzeria's better days.

He grinned, thumbing over the button gently. He could forget about his pitiful paycheck, because the little piece of flair he held in his hands was priceless.

Mike stared at the button for a bit more until a belch surged through his throat and erupted out his mouth, surprising him with its force. With a shrug, he stuffed the button back into his pocket, looking up at Freddy.

"Before I forget," he said, "the bossman says he's sorry about hitting you with a lead pipe."

"Can't say I blame him," he added in a hushed, sarcastic voice.

He looked out toward the main doors. The rain was so heavy that he could barely see more than a few feet from the door. It was probably going to be some time before Ralph showed up to haul off that old costume. A brief flash filled the room, followed by boom of a nearby streak of lightning. It must have hit the power lines outside, because as soon as the flash came, the entire pizzeria was plunged into darkness, the lights sputtering for only a moment before dying entirely.

Mike sat in the darkness, trying to plot his next move. Luckily, what little light there was outside gave him enough vision to see the room, and he decided to make good on his private promise to sleep on one of the tables. Besides, he was tired.

Jumping off the stage and wobbling a bit, he managed to walk over to one of the tables, moving some of the party hats out of the way and hoisting himself on the top of it. Hands on his chest, he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to overtake him. It did, eventually, but not before he caught only the faintest waft of mold and burnt metal as he drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p><strong>4:45 AM<strong>

_bang bang bang_

Mike Schmidt stirred in his sleep, mumbling loudly.

_bang bang bang_

His eyes fluttered open, revealing darkness and the light patter of rain outside, along with the incessant sound of someone knocking against the doors. With another series of mumbles, he sat up, looking outside. It was pitch black out, prompting Mike to look at his watch. 4:45.

"Did I seriously sleep 14 hours?" he asked himself, checking to make sure his watch wasn't faulty. He shook it a few times and decided he really had slept that long, then got off from the table, walking over to the doors. He could make out a dark figure outside, tapping on the door with a fist. As he approached the doors, he could see it was Ralph. While the rain was still coming down hard, it had thinned enough where Mike could make out a pickup truck in the parking lot, lights on and idling.

"Mike!" Ralph called out, "open the door! I've been out here for 15 minutes!"

He waddled over to the door, shaking himself to alertness all the while. After a few wrong keys and some quiet cursing on his end, Mike managed to unlock the door and let his manager inside. Ralph quickly ran inside, shivering as he pulled out a flashlight and turned it on.

"I don't think the rains ever going to end!" he complained, shaking the water off his jacket. When he was done, he looked up at Mike. "So I'm pretty sure this is as light as the rain's gonna get. Were you seriously sleeping on the table in here?"

Mike laughed nervously. "Heh heh. Saw that, huh? Yeah, I might have raided a little too much of your stash."

"Eh, ain't like I ever used it anyway. Thanks for staying over, by the way. You're about the only guy around here I can count on."

Mike nodded at his approval, then saw the manager look over his shoulder and smile.

"Holy crap, you managed to get that old thing out here by yourself? Cool."

Mike gave the manger a confused looking, turning his head to see over his shoulder. There, propped up against the wall, was the Golden Freddy costume, body limp and head placed atop it. Its pose made it look more like a corpse than a discarded costume, and its disturbing opened mouth still gave Mike the shudders.

The strength in his legs began to fade and he could feel the color draining from his face as the costume continued to stare at him with empty eyes. "I..." he stammered, turning toward Ralph.

"I didn't move that costume. I've been asleep since noon."

Ralph just arched an eyebrow. "Really? Sure you didn't just forget about it?"

Mike pointed towards the costume accusingly. "That thing smells like the plague. I swear to God I didn't move it."

The manager looked at the costume, then towards the mascots on stage. "What if they did? I mean, they probably wanted to help you and—"

"They're off, remember? They haven't moved an inch."

"Then who moved it? Who—"

He dropped his sentence dead. Ralph's eyes widened, and his lip began to quiver. Quick breaths followed, which very soon devolved into panicked hyperventilating. Mike didn't even have to ask what was wrong as he lifted his flashlight, pointing toward the backstage door.

It was open halfway. There, in the darkness between the wall and the door, a glowing red eye gazed back at them, still as stone. The door widened with a creak, accompanied with a flash of lightning. The sudden burst of light illuminated the powerless building and revealed more; a square, gaping jaw full of razor-sharp teeth, and the basic shape of a metal skull.

There was only the sound of rain hitting the roof when the door opened all the way, revealing what was inside.

There, in full view of Ralph's flashlight, was the backstage endoskeleton, hunched over, jaw moving up and down in tiny, hurried bursts. Its head twitched left and right, but never breaking eye contact with the two men.

"That...that's impossible," Ralph breathed. "That thing's been never been turned on."

Mike couldn't summon the energy to speak, and Ralph seemed to lose the rest of his nerve.

What seemed like an eternity went by until the metal skeleton in front of them moved, slowly shambling to the side. Rusted parts whirred and clicked with its every step, its head never looking away from Mike or Ralph. It made its way to the costume, jerkily taking the head off the top and stepping inside the hole at the top. With unnatural speed, it plunged its arms inside each of the empty suit's limbs, filling them out then standing up with a spasm.

It stood entirely still with its hellish stare once more, giving the odd twitch and tic.

Mike heard the screech of rubber on tile behind him. He broke his stare with the machine and whipped around to see Ralph had broke into a full run behind him, sprinting toward the door.

He then heard a roar, but not one made by any human. Looking back, he saw the robot's jaw open, its eyes glowing brighter than red-hot coals in the darkness. In one movement it sprang forward, leaping over the tables, past Mike. He only barely made it out of the machine's way, falling to the ground as he saw Bones descending upon Ralph.

It grabbed him just as he had made it to the door, clutching his shoulder and heaving him across the room. He went airborne, flying several feet before crashing into one of the tables. The cheap wood couldn't take the strain and collapsed under him, the whole table splitting in two under Ralph's back. He screamed in pain, dropping his flashlight and clutching his sides with both arms.

The demon was already upon him, grabbing him by the neck and holding him down. Ralph's hands went to the machine's arm, grabbing them and beating them in an attempt to free himself. His legs scrambled across the floor, trying the same. Ralph managed to raise one of his legs high enough to kick the robot in the head, hitting it in the jaw with his boot. Its head moved only an inch, and it retaliated by tightening its grip around his neck even more.

Its jaw widened. Far, far further than even Foxy was capable of, and began to lean in toward Ralph. The manager cried and shouted, his struggles becoming more and more desperate as its teeth approached him. Then, its head sprang forward. Mike's eyes shut as Ralph's screams were suddenly cut short by the sound of crunching bone and squelching of tissue. He heard servos whirring and grinding, meat being torn between the metal teeth of the machine. He opened his eyes. It still held him down, but Ralph was now absolutely still, the split table partly hiding his ruined head.

Blood flowed from its mouth, dripping in large drops onto Ralph's body. It opened and closed its mouth a few times before then turning its attention to Mike, eyes still burning with hellfire. It released its prey, walking over to the Golden Freddy head. The endoskeleton picked it up, plopping it upon its head. It turned it left and right a few times, as if fastening it.

Paralyzed with fear, he could do nothing as it walked over to him. He could still see its metal jaw inside the poor-fitting mask, shining from Ralph's dropped flashlight. When it had made its way to him, it got down on all fours, leaning closer and closer until the head's moldy snout was nearly touching his own. Blood dripped out of the head's cavernous mouth, and the smell of burnt metal was absolute.

"Mikey," it groaned.

**_"It's me."_**


	5. Chapter 5

The suit stood perfectly still after uttering its words, simply staring Mike in the eyes through the poor-fitting mask. The storm that raged outside had lulled, leaving the scene with only the low sounds of trickling rain. The head moved back, ever so slightly. Mike scooted back as well, and the machine did not react by attacking. Against all reason, he spoke to it.

"What are you?"

The empty-looking head tilted. The red orbs inside flickered for a brief moment, as if the machine had blinked, and in a sudden burst of movement, swung out an arm and grabbed him by the jaw. With no difficulty, it picked him up and slammed him onto the show stage with a enough force that Mike heard the stage's wooden floor crack, his pained scream muffled by the suit's fuzzy hand. It let go; giving him just a moment of air before it pressed down on his chest with the same hand, resuming its burning gaze.

"_**It's me,"**_ it repeated. Beyond the mouth of the suit's head, he could see the robot's jaw had not moved when it spoke. It waited while he gathered up the strength to reply. As he took in hurried breaths, could feel something flowing out of the corner of his mouth. Blood.

"What do you want?" he blurted out.

His shirt tugged forward as the machine lifted him again, raising him high for another strike against the floor. Just as it jerked forward for the blow, it paused. The voice slithered out once more.

"_**It's me." **_

With no ceremony, it let go of his shirt and Mike fell, his back hitting the edge of the show stage. He worked through the pain and quickly scrambled up, arms raised in a defensive pose. After the bites did not come, he lowered them to see the suit hadn't moved.

"_**It's me." **_

"W—What are you saying? What do you want!?" he demanded.

It slowly raised one of its arms, extending a chubby, mottled finger toward itself. _**"It's me." **_

The finger pulled away, going toward the direction of the band on stage. It slowly scanned over Bonnie and Chica before finally pointing toward Freddy. Its unblinking eyes locked with the offline bear's.

"**_Not me," _**it stated. Its voice was jagged and corrupt. Like Foxy's, but no personality or inflection to it; like a harvester combine that learned how to talk.

"Freddy?" he asked. "What do you want with Freddy?"

"_**Not me," **_it said again, with a spine-chilling tone. Anger. **_"Not me." _**

"What do you mean, 'not you'? What are you?"

In a blur, the machine's head snapped back to Mike. It began to walk backward at an uneven pace, stopping just behind Ralph's corpse. Its bent to its side, grabbing the body's arm and jerking back, holding its bloody work off the ground. Mike felt his stomach churn and saliva turn warm.

There was little left of Ralph's face, only a pink smear where it used to be. Blood covered the entire top of his shirt, with splatters going down to the knees. The entire body dangled in the robot's grip, lightly swaying in the air.

With its free hand, it pointed towards the corpse. _**"Not me," **_it repeated. Then, to itself.

"_**It's me." **_

"I—I don't understand."

It tilted its head, but no reply came. A bolt of lightning flashed outside, illuminating the monster and its prey. Inside the mask, the machine's head vibrated side to side.

When Mike began to ask it again, it jabbed a finger toward the corpse several more times.

"_**Not me. Not me. Not me. Yummy." **_

That was a new word. Mike squinted in confusion. "You can taste?"

"_**Yummy." **_It pointed toward Freddy again, repeating its word. "**_Bad." _**

"You don't like Freddy?"

The finger then moved toward Mike. _**"Yummy. Bad." **_

"You don't like me, either."

It nodded, the pointed to Chica and Bonnie. "_**Bad. Bad."**_

"Or the others."

The robot stood motionless, eyes burrowing into Mike's soul. As they did, he found himself next to a chair. It was one of the small ones meant for children, yet came up just high enough for him to grasp a hand around the back. His grip around it began to tighten.

"_**No eats. No eats long nap." **_

"That right?"

It let go of Ralph's corpse. The body crumpled to the floor.

"_**Not me nap time." **_

"...You know Freddy and the others are offline."

"_**No eats. Yummy." **_

Despite the overwhelming fear and pain, the weakest of chuckles managed to bubble out of his throat. It felt like red-hot spikes being driven through his lungs with each breath.

"So. What happens now?"

Only the storm outside answered him. A low thunder from a lightning bolt far away boomed through the storm, a base the the rain's incessant treble. Seconds went by with the robot remaining still.

Mike's shoe slid forward on the tiled floor. The squeak it produced was instantly devoured by the all-drowning bellow of the machine's screech. Its arms flew out to its side and it sprang forward, eyes shining so bright it filled its empty Freddy head with a red glow. With the same speed, Mike brought up the chair to the machine. He didn't have time to brace for the impact as the legs of the chair crashed into the robot's mouth, sending splinters in every direction. With every ounce, Mike shifted the weight to his side. He heard a metallic scream as the perverted version of Freddy could not stop its own momentum and kept running.

The guard broke into a run, hearing a crash behind him as he made his way to the exit. He looked over his shoulder to see that the robot has smashed into the wall, leaving a deep, fractured crater in the plaster. Its screams grew even louder.

He looked back, the pickup truck's headlights still on and inviting. If he could just make it to the truck, he could escape.

Another smash. He looked again to see that the robot has already freed itself from the wall. One of the eyes sockets to the mask was torn, revealing more of the machine's metal skull. Bits of plaster and paint now decorated the snout, which had been noticeably dented.

The sound had been the false Freddy smashing a table. It walked ahead calmly, and smashed another table in half once it got in its way.

"_**Mikey," **_it hissed.

Muscles protesting, Mike pushed himself to the door, forcing it open with a shoulder. He stumbled outside into the rain, falling to his knees. Pulling himself back up, he managed to hustle over to the car, opening the driver's door and falling inside.

He thanked God or whoever was listening when he saw the keys still in the ignition. He reached over to put the car in reverse, but was cut short by a force on his ankles. His heart dropped back into his stomach as he looked back.

The pretender Freddy stood at the doorway and had a vice-like grip on his left leg. It grew tighter by the second. In a panic, Mike struggled forward, flailing for anything to use as a weapon. His hand hit the glovebox in front of him and it plopped open, spilling its contents on the chair on front of it. Paper, envelopes, gum wrappers...and a large revolver.

It was his only hope. He lurched forward, grabbing the revolver's grip before his attacker forcefully dragged him outside, swinging around him in a wide arc, into the truck's windshield.

Mike didn't have the capacity to scream anymore. He knew for certainty that several of his ribs were broken now, and he could only take the most shallow of breaths as he saw the shadow in the darkened rain walk next to him. He leaned his head back to see the machine's gaping maw through the mask, moving toward him as droplets of rain flowed down its teeth.

Mike could barely move, much less move his armed hand.

But he had to.

He refused to be torn apart like a broken toy.

He _had_ to do this.

As the machine let out a hollow bellow and reared back for the killing blow, Mike forced his arm up and behind him.

"Not today," he muttered, and pulled the trigger.

The bang from the gun drowned out the storm for but a moment, muzzle flash as bright as any lightning bolt.

The machine's head whipped back, sparks flying out of one its eyes. It howled like a wounded animal, reeling back and clutching its mechanical wound. With a single motion, it pulled off its ill-fitting Freddy head and hobbled back over to Mike, ready to deliver a vengeful bite.

He'd failed. He closed his eyes and braced for the inevitable.

"W-what n' the blazes!?"

Mike shook himself to attention at the stuttering voice. Both he and the machine turned their heads back toward the pizzeria, where the voice had shouted. Standing there was Foxy, eyepatch lifted. Behind him were the others, all looking as shocked as he was.

The machine let out a defiant roar. Foxy answered with his own, charging the robot and bringing his hook down into the machine's injured eye before it could block. It let off an unholy rattle before uppercutting the pirate. Dazed, the machine grabbed Foxy with both hands and threw him at the other three. Metal sounded upon metal as they all clattered to the ground.

The robot then turned its attention back to Mike. It made a few steps in his direction before another series of sparks came shooting out of its eye and it clutched its wound. With one final screech, it turned face and ran, grabbing its Freddy mask along with it. It disappeared into the storm, swallowed by the fog and rain.

Mike heard metal scraping as the gang got up.

"Mr. Schmidt!" Chica screamed first. Panic was in her voice.

He tried a response, but there was nothing left in him. Broken and bleeding, he simply felt the rain pour down upon him as he lay halfway in Ralph's truck.

Freddy appeared in his vision, frowning.

"Mike!" he yelled, waving a hand in front of him. "Can you hear me!?"

"He's hurt _real_ bad this time!" Chica sobbed.

"I can see that!" Freddy snapped back. Chica jerked at Freddy's angry tone and ran back into the partly-destroyed pizzeria crying. Bonnie shot Freddy an admonishing look before running back inside as well to console the chicken.

"Lad!" Foxy said, appearing alongside Freddy. Mike saw him raise an arm, something sharp and shiny glinting in front of him. "How m-m-many hooks am aye 'o-oldin up!?"

"Spurfnkinsfmmmm..." Mike managed to reply. He honestly hadn't understood a word Foxy said, and the world was already beginning to fade just like when he had gotten shot, only quicker.

A metal hand tapped Mike's cheek. "Stay with us, Mike!" Freddy commanded. He grabbed Mike's shoulder and shook him awake.

The guard gained a brief window of clarity, managing a weak smile. "Sorry. Don't think I'm gonna make it this time. That thing messed me up good."

"D-don't ye be sayin' that, l-lad!" Foxy shouted, "Ye ain't dead yet!"

Mike didn't have the heart to tell Foxy otherwise. Bits of glass in his back, broken bones, probable internal bleeding. No way anyone had heard the commotion this time, and the phone lines were probably down. His prospects weren't too bright.

His eyes grew heavy and he could no longer fight against his injuries. With a sigh, he relaxed and welcomed the invading darkness. Foxy and Freddy's pleas to him became more and more distant, until they couldn't be heard at all.

"Nothing I can do about it," he thought. "Just let it all end."

"Just...let...it..."

"Just..."

…

…

…

…

"Why does my mouth feel like it's on fire?"

With a start, Mike immediately spat what tasted like microwaved lava out of his mouth. He sputtered and hacked, trying to expel whatever mysterious thing had brought him back to the land of the living. With newfound strength, he opened his eyes and reached inside his mouth, pulling out a small brown piece of matter. He surveyed the object with weakened eyes.

"Oh, goddamnit Chica."

His words were met with a chorus of cheers, especially that of Chica's.

"I knew that would work!" she exclaimed, jumping up in the air with joy and landing back down with a solid _thud._

"If someone told me this morning your Cinna-Ultra would've saved my life, I would have smacked them."

"Well, it worked, didn't it?"

Mike realized he could hear her clearly. He brought his head up, looking around. No longer wedged in the smashed windshield of the truck out in the rain, he was inside, and lying on one of the few tables the robot hadn't destroyed.

"How long have I been out?" Mike asked.

"About half an hour," Bonnie said. "We thought you weren't gonna wake back up until Chica brought you back."

"And you have my thanks," Mike replied. Against Freddy's protests, he sat up, even though it felt like almost dying all over again. "Ugh."

"Lad?" Foxy questioned in a cautious voice. "D-don't mean to r-r-rush ye or nothin', but what in th' devil happened b-b-b-back there?"

"It..." Mike began, but cut himself short. He didn't believe it himself.

"It was like a nightmare. I find this suit, a Freddy costume, and I called Ralph about it. He came over to pick it up. Then that thing walked out of the backstage room. Killed Ralph. Almost killed me."

"Aye, it was wearin' the d-d-damned costume, if me eyes weren't f-foolin' me."

Mike nodded. "Yeah. It talked to me, too. Kept saying 'it's me' and all of you were not him. Made a point of making me and Ralph watch him get inside the suit. Then Ralph ran and it grabbed him and—"

"We know, Mike," Freddy sighed. "He was the first thing we saw when we woke up. We did what we could."

Mike turned around to where the robot had dropped Ralph's corpse. In its place, he could see one of the table cloths draped over the upper half of the body.

He turned back. "Before...before tonight, we talked. He said that yellow costume used to belong to a employee here."

Mike looked to Foxy. "An employee you had a certain incident with."

Foxy snarled. "I d-d-don't regret what I did, lad. Some d-d-dogs be needin' to be put down."

"I don't blame you, Foxy, just telling you what he told me. It's just—" He buried his face in his palms. "—what the hell is going on? Bones coming to life, wearing the costume. Ralph's dead, I almost died. I think it would have destroyed all of you if it had more time."

Bonnie shrugged. "Lucky it didn't."

Mike frowned. "I want you all to be honest with me. Has that thing ever, ever moved, talked, anything before?"

"No," Freddy said. "Until tonight we thought it was just kept around because nobody wanted to lug it out to the trash."

"And that leads to the second part of my question," Mike continued. He looked up from his palms. "Something I've never really thought about before. Where did _you_ guys come from? Who made you?"

"That b-be a might personal query, lad."

"Foxy, for all we know that thing is running back here right now to finish the job. I want to know something, _anything_, that could give me an idea why it woke up now."

Freddy shook his head."To be totally straight with you, Mike, we don't know. We just sort of became...aware one day."

"All at once?"

"I was the first. Bonnie and Chica a few days later. Foxy got it halfway during a show."

"'Twas a slightly d-distressin' first memory," the pirate mused.

"We actually did talk to the other endoskeleton and prodded it and everything, but it never reacted."

"Never?"

"Never."

Bonnie raised a hand. "Well..."

Everyone turned toward him.

"Until now, I thought I imagined it."

"Out with it, ye d-daft rabbit!"

"I was in the backstage room once to get a replacement head and I saw its jaw move. It never happened again, so I figured it was just shadows playing tricks! I swear that's the only time!"

"How long ago was this?"

"A few years ago. Why?"

Mike brought a hand to his chin and made a contemplative hum. "Well then. Maybe it's been alive this whole time but couldn't move too much, for whatever reason."

"That make sense," Chica said.

"But why could it move now?" Freddy asked.

"No idea. I've never—" Mike paused with realization. "Oh shit."

"What?"

"The robbery," Mike explained, "the robbers cornered me in the backstage area before I got shot. One of them had a stun gun and I tried to grab it from him. I think we accidentally shocked Bones before I managed to get away."

"Throw me over to th' sh-sharks," Foxy cursed, "ye j-jump-started it."

"Even if I did, that was months ago. Why didn't attack me before?"

"M-maybe it was waitin' for th' right time. When we were n-nappin', fer instance."

"I was asleep on one of the tables most of the day. It could have easily killed me any time then. It only appeared when Ralph showed up."

"Maybe—" Bonnie said, "—Maybe it wanted you to see Ralph die."

"A sadist automaton. If that's true, we've got a crisis on our hands. That thing's on the loose and there is no goddamn telling how many more people it'll hurt before it gets back to me."

Foxy crossed his arms. "We won't let B-Bones get within ten leagues of ye."

"But what happens the next time you have to shut down? That thing's been back there, listening and watching for God knows how long. It probably knows the exact day you'll all switch off again."

Chica spoke up, her voice lined with anxiety. "So, what?"

Mike looked around the building. Most of the tables were shattered. Chairs were strewn about the entire dining area. There was blood all over the floor, and even some on the walls. The main doors had been obliterated, likely by the robot when it followed him to the truck. He could see the truck outside with its caved-in windshield, still idling.

He grunted and moved to step off the table. "As much as I need to get to a hospital, I don't think that's an option. Ralph was murdered, and I'm gonna be the prime suspect in this bloodbath."

"But you didn't kill him, Mr. Schmidt."

"What am I supposed to say? That a robotic endoskeleton chewed his goddamn face off? Or are you guys gonna vouch for me?"

The band exchanged nervous glances.

"I don't want to lose you all."

Chica scratched her metal head."What do you want us to do, Mr. Schmidt?"

"Grab Ralph's body. Put it in the truck. I know a cabin out a ways that nobody ever uses, and we can stay there until I can think further ahead. Chica, go to the kitchen and start a fire."

"Mr—"

"Just call me Mike, Chica." He took off his jacket and security hat and handed them to her. "Stuff these full of meat and put them in there too. It probably won't work, but maybe they'll think I died in the fire."

"I—okay, Mike," she said, gathering up his clothes and walking off to the kitchen.

Mike stood up from the table. "The windshield's cracked, but I still should be able to get through to the cabin."

Freddy placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you _sure_ about this, Mike?"

"I should be asking you all that. Have you guys even left the pizzeria before?"

"Nay," Foxy said, "b-but a pirate n' his crew n-never shirk away from adven-ven-venture. Or gettin' well-earned v-vengeance o'er their cap'n."

"Well then. Let's go."

* * *

><p>The security guard of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza sat in Ralph's truck, his view through the cracked windshield murky at best. The storm had let up quite a bit, and he was fairly sure that as long as he kept his headlights on and went slowly, he could make it to his destination without crashing. Bonnie, Freddy and Foxy were in the truck's bed, sitting down and guarding Ralph's wrapped body. They waited on Chica, who came running through the door moments later and squeezing into the passenger side.<p>

"I'm guessing you did your worst."

"And then some, Mike!"

A fireball erupted from the roof of the pizzeria. The rain did nothing to douse the flame, and the fire quickly spread all over the roof. Within half a minute, flames had begun to engulf the entire building. A deep black column of smoke billowed out from the former restaurant.

"Welp," Bonnie stated in a matter-of-fact tone, "We're homeless now."

"Who n-needs home when ye've got the w-wide open ocean!" Foxy answered.

"Foxy, we're over a hundred miles from the coast."

"Arrrrrr, if the l-lad weren't 'ere, I'd g-gut ye for that."

Mike rolled his eyes as the fox and rabbit continued to argue. Shifting the truck into gear, he pressed down on the pedal and moved the vehicle onto the main road. With the inferno raging behind them, it felt like they were leaving hell and headed straight toward the abyss.

As the truck drove off, a single red eye inside a yellow mask watched from the woods at the edge of the road. It blinked once, before receding deep into the shrubs and vanishing from sight.


	6. Chapter 6

The road to the shack was obscure at best, partly covered in dense shrubs and long-since worn away gravel. Mike slowly eased on the brakes and turned left, heading off into the dark passage. The road was bumpy and slick with mud; he really hoped they didn't get stuck.

His passengers said nothing, save Chica.

"Mike?"

"Yeah."

"How long are we going to stay at this house of yours?"

"It's not really a 'house' so much as a shack. And we'll stay until we can figure out what to do with Golden Freddy. Bones. Whatever that thing is."

"Right. Okay. Um. Is there anything to eat there?"

"I dunno. How do you feel about eating canned food from World War II?"

"World War What?"

"Nevermind."

The trees provided some protection from the onslaught of rain, which had slackened up quite a bit since their departure from the former pizzeria. It'd been years since he'd gone down the road, but if remembered some of the landmarks correctly, it looked as if they were about halfway to the isolated cottage. Foxy quietly hummed The Irish Rover as the truck reached a rather flat section of the road. Mike kept a firm grip on the wheel, in case the truck's wheels suddenly slipped in the mud or fell into a watery hole.

And then, there it was. A small square shadow against the moon's light, the cabin slowly lit up in Mike's view as the truck's headlights approached it.

Mike turned back. "I see the cabin up ahead!"

Everyone in the bed of the truck nodded. For a moment they looked kind of scary, water pouring down their metallic frames as they looked down on him in the dark. He banished the thought quickly; they were his friends, and they wouldn't harm a fly. Maybe a robber or two, but not a fly.

The truck rumbled into the small patch of grass in front of the dark cabin. Mike kept the key in, leaving the lights shining on the cabin's wall. He jumped out and heard the others getting out of the truck as well.

"Hold on!" he shouted back, "I need to get something!"

The robots stayed near the truck while Mike entered the cabin. Banging and cursing followed until a light appeared inside, shifting around as if looking for something. It paused, and a moment later Mike reappeared holding a shovel and a old oil lamp. He was frowning.

"Get Ralph."

The other instantly picked up on his meeting. Freddy walked over to the bed of the truck and gently lifted out Ralph's covered body, lying it on the patch of grass while Mike went to work on digging a hole.

"Are you sure this is the best spot?" Bonnie asked.

Mike stopped, and rested on the shovel handle. "Bonnie, two things: one, this is pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Two, the cops around here are idiots and assuming they don't automatically conclude Ralph's body and mine were consumed in the blaze, it will be a miracle if they travel all the way out here and find it."

Bonnie was satisfied with Mike's reply and said nothing more, watching the guard dig the rest of the hole.

When he was finished, he motioned for Freddy to put him in. He shoveled the loose dirt back on Ralph's body, then stuck the shovel in the upturned ground, bowing his head.

"I...I didn't know Ralph Brown very well. He was always a nervous man, but hard-working nonetheless. He dealt with what he had. He died trying to end of the memory of a terrible event."

Mike coughed and raised his head. "Anyone else?"

"He was the cap'n, and for that, aye respected 'im," Foxy stated without a stutter.

"He never really tried to let it on, but he did his best trying to hide the fact that the pizzeria was going under. He had a lot on his shoulders," Freddy said.

"I heard about that," Mike said, "something about the pizzeria shutting down at the end of the year."

Freddy gave a grinding sigh. "Yeah."

"Well, what would have happened to you guys? You know, if this hadn't happened?"

"Honestly, Mike, we were gonna cross that bridge when we came to it. Wouldn't have been the first time we've had to deal with anyway."

"What?"

"Uh, nothing. Look, can we get inside? I'm afraid all this water's going to short-circuit me."

Mike shrugged. He pulled the shovel out of Ralph's grave and held it on his shoulder, walking back to the open door of the cabin. He waved the others to come in behind him. They followed, and were barely able to fit through the narrow door. The sound of rain was just a mere patter on the cabin's thick roof, the sound absorbed by the oak wood.

The cabin was modest enough. Two beds, a desk with a radio, a small kitchen. A large closet sat in the corner of the room, partway opened.

"Home sweet home. Alright guys, this is it," Mike stated. He walked over to the desk and sat his lamp down, turning the knob on it and brightening the room with a warm orange glow. "It's not much, but it's all we got until I figure out a game plan."

"Got any i-inkling of one y-yet?" Foxy asked.

"Maybe, but I'm too tired to explain it to you right now. I'm going to bed. Do whatever you guys want but for the love of God don't go outside. I don't want some camper thinking he saw Bigfoot."

They nodded, and Mike hobbled over to one of the beds to get some well-deserved sleep. The soft mattress was a welcome feeling and a nice change of pace from the normal brick he had to sleep on back at his apartment. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. Soon, they became even and slow, and Mike had drifted off into sleep.

* * *

><p>Mike awoke with a start. Whipping his head around, he saw he was sitting back in the office of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. The lights were low, the desk fan continued its constant duty, and low, gurgled laughing flowed out from the dark hallways on both sides.<p>

"A nightmare? Really?" he asked aloud. In his first few days of employment at Freddy Fazbear's, they were a near-certainty. They always ended with some dark shadow with bright shining teeth breaking into his office, forcing a mask on his skull, tearing into flesh and bone. If it wasn't that, it was Chica appearing out of nowhere and ripping his throat out with her beak.

Of course, when the band dropped their we-are-trying-to-murder-you act, the nightmares subsided as well. Usually. Still had that one where Foxy made him walk the plank.

Since he already knew it was coming, he got out if his chair and poked his head down the long hallway.

"Hello?" he asked in sarcastic voice. "Nightmare Bonnie? Nightmare Chica? Ya'll can come kill me now. I've got a real nightmare in the real world that I need to take care of."

Silence. That was weird. Usually he heard ghostly whispering at this point in the dream.

He braved stepping out of his office entirely. "Hello?"

Again, silence.

With a deep breath, he began to walk down the hall. Maybe if he went to the Pirate's Cove and drop-kicked Nightmare Foxy, that would make the robot bite and he'd wake up.

As he marched up to the dining room, he noticed something odd. The stage area was empty. A barren patch of wood where the three talking animals should have been. Mike shrugged and made his way over to Pirate's Cove. He stuck his head inside the purple curtains, only to find it was empty as well.

Pulling his head back out, he crossed his arms with a harumph. "Well this is just inconvenient."

Finally, he did hear something. Close and sharp. A music box tune.

Playing in his office.

Mike turned, now much less eager to see the end of the dream than before. He could feel the beads of sweat forming on his head as he paced up the hallway, and the tune's pace began to quicken. And then he recognized the song. Pop Goes the Weasel.

A high whisper accompanied the song's iconic pace. But whatever singing it was no child. The voice was taunting. Haughty.

_All around the mulberry bush _

_The monkey chased the weasel; _

_The monkey thought 'twas all in good fun_

The voice stopped as Mike came upon the left side of his office, the tune now repeating as a feverishly face past. Where his chair was, there was no a bright blue present box, the size of a desk. It gave him an overwhelming sense of dread, but yet he had to know what was inside. He inched over to the box, holding out both arms to take off the top.

"You don't want to do that."

Mike looked over his shoulder.

His stomach sank.

Standing there, missing face and all, was Ralph. His shirt was still stained a dark red, and flecks of dirt covered his shoulders. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the wall.

Mike barely squeaked out a question. "Ralph?"

The manager nodded. Blood dropped out of the open wound with every movement of the corpse's neck.

Mike's eyes darted over to the box and pointed toward it. "What's in that box?"

"Something you don't want to meet."

"Golden Freddy?"

"Worse."

"Then what is it?"

The apparition stood up from the wall. "Let's just say I wasn't entirely honest with you about The Bite. And Golden Freddy ain't the worst of your problems."

"Why? Why tell me this?"

Ralph tilted his destroyed head. "Who knows? Maybe I'm a ghost. Maybe I'm just a fragment of your subconscious trying to warn you. This is a nightmare, after all."

"Warn me about what?'

"Like I said," Ralph answered, "this is a nightmare." He pointed to the box. "And it's time you woke up."

Mike spun around to see the top of the box fly off. Something tall and slender emerged from it, lunging toward him. He saw a fiendish smile and pitch black eyes as spindly hands grabbed his arms and began to pull. The thing laughed, pulling harder and harder while Mike screamed.

Just as his bones began to crack, Mike sat up in his cabin bed with a shout. He was drenched in sweat, and his breathing was shallow and labored. Not a second later did a sharp pain shoot through his side, the injuries from his find with Golden Freddy catching up with him. As he clutched his sides and slowly rose from the bed, he noticed he was alone in the cabin.

It was daytime now, and a small beam of light flowed in from one of the windows. He heard the low sway of the trees outside accompanied with birdsong. If nothing else, the cabin was a peaceful place.

Voices flowed in from the outside. They were hushed, but still quite audible and metallic. Mike grunted; he thought he told them to stay inside. He walked over to the heavy wooden door and pulled it open, the sunlight outside momentarily blinding him.

He first caught sight of Bonnie and Freddy, backs turned to the cabin. They stood over Ralph's grave, looking down on it while in conversation. Chica was standing under one of the pine trees, apparently trying to "talk" to one of the birds making its nest in the branches. Her imitations of bird's calls were atrocious at best, but that didn't discourage her in the slightest.

Foxy stood at the edge of the cabin grounds, looking down the road with his arms crossed. Guarding it, apparently.

"Guys?" Mike asked. They all turned.

"Ahoy, l-lad!" Foxy called back, waving his hook. The others answered in turn as well, waving to Mike as he walked out of the cabin.

"Should I tell him?" Bonnie asked Freddy.

Freddy shook his head. "Nah. I will."

"Tell me what?"

"Well, Chica tried to eat the radio this morning—"

"It looked edible!"

"—when we accidentally turned it to some kind of news station. They found the pizzeria burned down, obviously. They apparently think someone robbed the place again and tried to cover their tracks by torching the building and stealing Ralph's truck."

"Like I said, the cops around here are idiots."

The bear nodded. "Works for us. So what is this big plan of yours, Mike? How are we going to track down a crazy endoskeleton?"

"Well," Mike began, "I was planning on letting it come to me. Wait until you guys go offline then set a trap for it."

"Ye g-got seagull brains, l-lad? That thing b-bloody lifted me off like aye was a c-cabin boy! Ye ain't g-got a chance b-by your lonesome!"

"Well it's that or we somehow track it down. And frankly, I don't want to go wandering in the woods just to get my head bitten off out of nowhere."

Chica joined the conversation, one finger raised. "Actually," she said, "I might know where it's going."

Foxy spun around and shot daggers. "Lassie, you b-best be clammin' yer trap."

"What?" Mike asked. "Foxy, if there's even a chance you might know— "

"_Nowhere, Mike," _the pirate hissed a warning tone.

Mike threw up his arms. "Look, Ralph's dead! I nearly died! I think I'm pretty goddamn entitled to find out wh—"

The guard's words were cut off from the grip of a metal hand clamping around his throat. Foxy had closed the distance between them before he could even blink. He choked, his legs kicking about as the pirate lifted him off the ground and stared at him with a glow behind his plastic eyes.

"_Ye don't know the first blubberin' thing about entitlement. You didn't have to live under the gaze of a skinny tyrant. Ye didn't have yer best mate turned against ye. YE DIDN'T HAVE THE BLOOD OF FIVE WEE ONES ON YOUR HANDS! __**DON'T BLOODY TELL ME ABOUT ENTITLEMENT, YE BOOTLICKIN' SALTY DOG!**__"_

Chica grabbed Foxy's arm, forcing it down. "Stop! You're hurting him!"

Foxy's eyes softened, and the rage in him began to subside. He shook his head, and his toothy maw opened in shock when he realized where he was. He quickly sat Mike down on his feet, releasing his grip.

Mike let out a series of deep, pained coughs while the pirate crouched down over him.

"I...I'm s-sorry, lad. I don't know what—"

Mike held up a hand. Foxy paused while the guard went through several more pained hacks until he had enough breath to speak.

"Foxy," he finally managed to say, "I need you to be honest with me." He looked up to the rest of his friends. "I need you to all be honest with me. And I swear to God if I even suspect you're lying I'm getting in that truck and driving off."

He looked back to Foxy. "I had a dream last night. I saw Ralph. I don't know if it was a message from beyond the grave, or my brain just telling me something about the story seemed off, but he told me that the story he gave of the Bite of '87 wasn't...entirely true."

Foxy opened his mouth but shut it with another raised hand from Mike.

"He told me something else. "Golden Freddy" is just part of something worse. And a box. Something inside it. Something pure evil. Any of this sound familiar?"

The animatronics all turned to Freddy. The leader of the bang placed one huge palm across his face and shook his head.

"Mike. Believe me when I tell you: that endoskeleton should have never been moving. We made sure of that."

"What do you mean, 'made sure of that'?"

"There was...a bad man. And that costume you found? It was his. But there's more to it than that."

"How so?"

"What did Mr. Brown tell you?"

"Well, a predator got a job at the pizzeria around '85, then the five kids disappeared, then he came back two years later and Foxy attacked him."

Mike looked at the pirate for some kind of confirmation, but he was too busy listening to Freddy.

"That was the story Mr. Brown always had in case someone asked."

"He lied?"

"Not exactly. He believed the story the same as anyone. The company probably told it to him and he never questioned it. What happened...didn't happen at our restaurant."

"And you guys. That stuff you told me about gaining awareness one-by-one?"

A metal sigh. "That _was _a lie."

"Why? Why lie to at a time like that!?"

"We didn't have the luxury of time, Mike!" Freddy snapped back. "I had to make up something or we'd still be in the pizzeria when the rest of the humans came by! We told ourselves years ago that we'd _never_ talk about it again!"

"Talk about what!? That Bones could move the whole time!? That one day he'd walk up and start going on a rampage!?"

"That we _killed_ him! And how we let the others down!"

Mike's next question came out as a slurred jumble of words. "O-others?"

"Others, Mike. There's four of us now. There used to be ten."

"Ten?"

"Foxy, Bonnie, Chica, and myself. And then there was TB, TC, TF, BB, and Mangle."

There was a pause while Mike mentally tallied the names. "Wait, that's nine. Who was the tenth?"

Freddy finally removed the hand from his face. "We don't know what it called itself. Just know it was evil."

"Evil?"

Bonnie nodded. "Imagine all the worst, cruel things a person can be and put them into one body."

"The nightmare of the d-devil 'imself," Foxy added.

"And where does our endoskeletal friend fit into this?"

"Truth is, Mike, we've always known what the endoskeleton was. Until now we honestly, truly believed it had been deactivated for good. We tore out its central processor and everything. But they brought it to the pizzeria all the same. Probably thought it would be good for spare parts."

"Then what is it? What does it want?"

"I've already told you its name, Mike."

The guard shrugged.

"Mangle."

"And what does Mangle want?"

The wind seemed to die and the birds around them go silent as Freddy said his next words.

"The Puppet. Mangle wants to bring back The Puppet."


	7. Chapter 7

**Freddy Fazbear's Pizza **

**November 16****th****, 1987**

**2:11 AM**

His nights had become routine. The animatronics, scary as they were, had never overtly assaulted him. Sneak into his office, sure. Stare at him with unblinking hellish eyes, sure. However, his Freddy Fazbear mask guaranteed his safety, so he never felt that he was in too much danger.

All he had to do was blink the mechanical terrors a few times with the flashlight, and they'd walk off. Except the fox. More often than not it would just stand at the end of the hall, glaring at him. He'd put the mask on, but the robot would keep staring, eventually shaking its head as if in disgust and walking off.

Jeremy Fitzgerald, with his legs propped on the desk, lazily thumbed through the cameras while wearing the mask. The manager had told him that wearing it and trying to watch the cameras at the same time would be impossible, but Jeremy prided himself on his multitasking.

"Hello!"

Jeremy didn't even have to look up to know "Balloon Boy" had snuck into his office again. He ignored little glass-eyed brat; even acknowledging it was enough to make it stand there for half an hour.

He switched over to the prize corner, pressing a button on the screen to wind the music box. The guy on the phone said it was quite important to keep it wound, since apparently one of the other animatronics inside the giant box was placated by it. Granted, he probably wouldn't be in any danger if he didn't wind it, but it getting out would just be another annoyance, and winding the box at least gave him something to do.

He heard the hollow sound of something heavy pounding on on metal to his right. He looked up. Balloon Boy was gone, and instead he found himself staring into the faceless cavern of the rabbit. Two tiny red dots gazed down upon him, "blinking" every few seconds.

Jeremy kept his cool. If the robots were ever going to kill him, they already would have. Physically interacting with them in any way was also a big no-no, and constituted immediate termination. From what he heard, the pizzeria hired another guy as an extra guard, then fired him on his first night for tampering with the robots.

Granted, the pizzeria was closing down soon anyway, so Jeremy would once again be amongst the glorious armies of the unemployed. Oh well. It wasn't like he was going to miss his current job terribly. The robots stopped being terrifying after a while and then the boredom set in.

Honestly, he was probably more bored than ever. So, he tried something he'd never done before: he talked to the machination standing in front of him.

"We've gotta stop meeting like this," he said, his smirk hidden behind the heavy Freddy mask.

The robot didn't react in any way. It continued to stare at him with its tiny pinpricks of red light.

"I said, we've gotta stop meeting like this," he repeated. "C'mon, give me some witty banner. I'm bored out of my skull here."

There was a rumbling sound to his left and turned his neck to see that the other rabbit, the one with bright blue paint and rosy cheeks, had come into his office as well. That was weird; they only ever came in one at a time.

He shrugged at turned his attention toward the newer robot, pointing a thumb toward the faceless one as he spoke. "Hey, your friend here's kind of rude."

The newer robot also remained silent.

Jeremy wondered why he was even bothering talking to him. It wasn't like they understood what he was saying. He began to vocalize that exact thought toward the rabbit, but stopped halfway. It was then he realized that the reason they didn't react was that they couldn't hear him, even to him his voice sounded muffled and incomprehensible through the tight-fitting mask.

Without thinking, he grabbed the bottom of his mask and lifted it up onto the top of his head, frowning at the robot.

"Right. Now you should be able to hear me. I said—"

"You lose," the robot interrupted. Its voice was cheery and warm, but with a undertone of gleeful malice.

Jeremy did a double-take. "W—what?"

The rabbit suddenly crouched and leaped toward him, grabbing him by the throat. Jeremy's panicked wail was cut off by the robot's vice grip. It closed its ceramic hand around his windpipe, giving him only just enough space to breath as it held him down in the seat.

He struggled frantically. "Howffffgetoffsssstoo—"

"You took off the mask," it said. "That's the rules. If we see you without your face, you lose."

With a single motion, it picked off Jeremy's mask and threw it down the hall with a mighty swing. It disappeared into the darkness, followed by a loud clang.

The guard's heartbeat became even more frantic as he saw both Chicas walking out of the darkness of the main hallway. The "toy" one was not wearings it eyes, and the glassy orbs of its endoskeleton shined in the dim light.

"Well well well," the newer model said, "looks like we finally got you."

The older robot, easily the most disturbed-looking of the whole bunch with its double set of teeth and oversized eye sockets, said nothing.

Panic had overtaken Jeremy as he flailed for anything to save him. Suddenly, he found salvation in his flashlight. He swung it at the rabbit's head with everything he had. It smashed against the robot's red cheek, and he saw the ceramic covering it crack and fracture before he was let go. It stumbled back, clutching the cracked surface like a grievous wound.

With the main entrance blocked, he scrambled to his left, trying to escape through the vent. Just as he leaned down to escape, he was pulled back by his shirt collar and forcibly turned around. The new Chica filled his vision, glaring him down with a beakless grin.

"Ah ah ah," she taunted, "can't have you leaving before the party."

"W—"

"What party?" she answered, "Oh, _your_ party, you big silly!"

"I don't—"

"You don't have much of a choice," the faceless robot said.

A frustrated scream filled the room, and he saw the toy rabbit appear over Toy Chica's shoulder. His left cheek was very obviously cracked open, and the thin lines radiated all the way to his nose. His eyelids were closed halfway and slanted, giving the impression of anger.

"If I was a less forgiving rabbit, I'd use your ribcage as a xylophone. Luckily for you, the bossman's got something _much_ more fun planned."

Jeremy couldn't speak, too paralyzed with fear. He saw that both of the Freddys had come into the office as well. The new one simply stood with its arms at its sides, but the older one looked partly away with its arms crossed.

He weakly pointed a finger at the two bears. "The...boss?"

"Nah," Chica answered. Her grip tightened. "You might be thinking to yourself, 'but wait, o great and beautiful Chica, isn't Freddy Fazbear supposed to be the boss? His name is on the restaurant, after all.' WRONG! The boss is none other than Mr. P! And he's been awful impressed that you managed to go this long without losing. Before now, they'd always quit before losing! Sore losers, the lot of them!"

"They were smart is what they were," the faceless rabbit mumbled.

Toy Chica turned her head. "Shut up!" he shouted at the old Bonnie. She turned back to Mike. "So let me ask you something, what do you think happens now?"

"You...you let me go?" Jeremy asked in a quavering voice.

"Not even close! No cigar for you!" she shouted. Suddenly she let him go, pushing him back slightly. He stumbled and managed to regain his balance just in time to see Chica looking up.

"Take it away, Mangle!" she shouted with a wave. Jeremy looked up to see a mess of broken metal and wiring staring back at him, dangling from the ceiling. The broken Foxy screamed as it plummeted from above. It was on him in an instant and Jeremy's vision went black.

* * *

><p>Music. The first thing that Jeremy heard was music. It was fast-paced, frantic tune, and only seemed to get faster along with the sounds of whirring gears and clicking gizmos. Then the pain hit him. A giant, throbbing pain on the crown of his head. He remembered "Mangle" dropping down on him, jaws open wide. If it wanted, it could have easily crushed his skull. But...he was alive, wasn't he? He opened his eyes slowly only to find himself staring at darkness.<p>

"Looks like Mr. Fitzgerald is awake!" he heard Toy Chica announce, her voice like barbwire coated in sugar. He was being held up by the back of his collar by the damned chicken. His eyes began to adjust. Realization dawned upon him as the blackness faded. He was in prize corner, looking straight at the giant box that contained the mystery robot.

The other mascots surrounded him. The newer animatronics looked quite pleased with themselves, but the older ones looked disinterested. Foxy was nowhere to be seen.

Chica held Jeremy up a bit higher. "Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls! I have here tonight our guest of honor: Jeremy Fitzgerald! All the way from who the hell cares, he has the distinctive honor of meeting the one and only, Mr. P!"

He began to pick up on another sound as well: sobbing. He looked over to see a very distinctive human shape curled into a fetal position near him, shoulders bouncing with every wet breath.

Toy Chica glanced over to the man on the floor and rolled her eyes. "Plus this buzzkill."

She snapped her attention back to Jeremy. "Anyway! Enough delays. I give you, the one, the only, Mister P!"

All at once the music from the box stopped playing and the lids flew open. A long, thin arm reached out from the box, grabbing the edge. Then, he saw a white mask rise into view. Then, the rest of the monster. It was like a demonic marionette. Its rosy cheeks and half-smile could only be seen as a cruel mocking laugh, and its limbs were far too thin to be familiar to any human. In a single flowing motion it stepped out of the box, floating to the ground. It hovered in the air for a moment before placing its tiny feet on the floor, and stretching out its arms.

"Jeremy Fitzgerald. So good to finally meet you!" it said in a singsong patter. It bowed in front of him, its movements wildly exaggerated. "I must apologize for Lady Mangle's rather brute method of incapacitating you. But, you're here, and relatively unharmed. Good! Good. How are you this fine morning?"

Jeremy's only reply was his shallow breathing, too afraid to ask a question that would be answered with spilled blood.

The masked figure leaned its head forward, and suddenly its unmoving eyes sockets took on the shape of angry brows. "Mr. Fitzgerald, I asked you a question. I won't ask it again."

"Fine," Jeremy managed to choke out.

The puppet leaned back its head and the gleeful expression returned suddenly. "Very, very good! Now then, I believe you've earned the right to ask me a question."

Jeremy's checked around him. No matter where he looked, there was one of the robots. He could even see Mangle dangling from the ceiling, both of her heads watching him intently for any sudden movements.

"Today, Mr. Fitzgerald," the Puppet warned.

"What are you going to do to me?" Jeremy answered instantly.

"Ah!" it announced, "exactly the question I wanted to hear! I suppose you think yourself in some kind of mortal danger. What if I told you that you, tonight, could walk out of here completely unscathed? It's the honest truth! Oh, but I forgot to answer your question. A thousand apologies. What we do, if anything, depends entirely on you, Mr. Fitzgerald."

It swayed an arm toward the crying man on the floor. "Do you see this rather sullen fellow on the floor down here? He is a terrible, terrible man. If I told you the things he's done, you'd think me a madman! And worse, he's gone unpunished for his terrible, terrible deeds."

"What did he do?"

The Puppet scratched its non-existent chin. "Well, I don't want to keep you here all night, so I'll just name a few. Listlessness. Lack of ambition. General unpleasantness. Child murder. Odor."

"Child—what?"

"Oh, yes!" the Puppet responded with a half-cheer. "You see, this man here was hired to provide entertainment for the children. Wore a bright yellow suit and everything. But he couldn't be trusted. And five little kids disappeared on his watch."

The man on the floor sobbed even more from the Puppet's accusations.

It continued. "But, it wouldn't feel right to just punish him ourselves. We're not barbarians. We believe in a fair trial. So, I want you to say 'You can kill this man'. Say that, and I'll let you go. Free as a bird. Scout's honor."

"This isn't right, Puppet," old Bonnie spoke up. "That guy on the floor deserves everything that's coming to him, but why did you have to drag Mr. Fitz into this!?"

The Puppet was still for a moment, then lowered its head and sighed. "Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Fitzergald."

Without another word, it slithered with an unearthly speed over to Bonnie, grabbing his one of his exposed endoskeleton eyes and ripping it out of his head. Oil and smoke flew from the rabbit's face as the Puppet knocked Bonnie to the floor with a swing across his legs. The marionette's eyes glowed a blinding white as looked down on its victim.

"**I DON'T THINK I ASKED YOU ANYTHING, RABBIT. NOW LAY DOWN THERE AND I MIGHT LET YOU LIVE." **It threw the eye down on the prone robot, clanging off his skull.

Jeremy could hear Toy Chica making a 'tsk, tsk' sound behind him.

"The old farts just aren't any fun," she whispered.

The Puppet straightened up and resumed its calm composure, walking over to Jeremy with the same damn smile.

"Some people just don't know who's in charge," it complained. "Anyway, I lay the choice down to you."

Jeremy looked over to the crying man again. "How do you know he's the one who—"

"Ah, you need evidence, then? Truly you are worthy of the task I've set before you!"

The Puppet looked up to Mangle and snapped his fingers. "Mangle, darling, would you mind fetching Mr. Fitzgerald the suit?"

Mangle paused a moment before she nodded and climbed out of the room with surprising speed.

The marionette watched her leave then turned back to Jeremy. "Helpful girl, but dumb as a bag of hammers, you know?"

No sooner had he finished speaking then Mangle climbed back into the room holding something huge with her jaws. She opened her mouth and it plopped to the floor, but with nowhere near the impact he expected. In fact, it sounded hollow.

With a slight wave, he motioned for Toy Chica to let him go. "This, Mr. Fitzgerald, was the accused's Freddy Fazbear costume. I think if you inspect it, you'll find all the evidence you'll need for your verdict."

Toy Chica none-to-gently pushed Jeremy forward. He took that as his cue to look at whatever the hell that they'd brought to him, and meekly walked over to inspect it. All the while, he told himself to take deep, steady breaths to calm down, something that became harder and harder with all the robots around watching him.

He leaned down to get a better look at the mass. Sure enough, it was a Freddy Fazbear costume. It looked like it hadn't been washed in years. Its mouth was agape, and its eye sockets were massive, likely so the wearer could see out of it.

Then, something else hit him. It was a low, uncomfortable smell, and he was sure it was coming from the costume. He reached a hand inside the mouth of the empty body and then instantly recoiled when he felt something wet inside. As her jerked back, he held up his hand to see what it was. He couldn't make it out very well in the low light, but it was something slick and sticky. The smell was now so strong he could almost taste it, and it tasted like licking a metal pole.

"Blood," he gasped.

The Puppet nodded. "I don't think you have to be a genius to figure out who's blood that is. It's beyond me why he thought hiding the evidence in there would save him."

Jeremy didn't say anything and continued to stare at his hand in a daze.

The Puppet tilted his head forward. "Come now, the world's a pretty dangerous place. I know it's very shocking to you and all, but just think how we feel!" he said. If it felt any sympathy towards the victims, it didn't show it. If anything, it sounded annoyed.

"Why..." Jeremy said and trailed off, the rest of the sentence lost in his throat.

The Pupped leaned his tall body forward. "Hm?"

"Why don't the police have this?"

The Puppet clasped its thin fingers together. "Mr. Fitzgerald, you know as well as I do that this world is unfair. People, bad people, so very often do bad things that they never have to answer for. I borrowed this suit so the man over there could get a trial he _really _deserves."

"What are you going to do him?"

"Truth be told, I don't think we've decided yet," it answered. It looked over to Toy Freddy. "TF, my boy, what do you think we should do with our rather sick fellow on the ground?"

Toy Freddy scratched his head and replied in a deep, slightly dopey voice. "I dunno. Guess we'll rip his head off or something."

The Puppet nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that could work. TC, what do you think?"

"I was thinking I just break his ribcage with my cupcake," she replied.

"Interesting. Mangle, what about you?"

Mangle said no words, but replied by snapping her jaws shut so fast that tiny sparks flew off her teeth.

"Yes, I think I like that idea the most. There you have it, Mr. Fitzgerald. When you give our man over there the sentence he so rightfully deserves, we'll give him...free brain surgery!"

"_Something be needin' dearly, ye anorexic git," _a growlin voice sounded from behind them. Everyone in the room spun around to the hallway. They could see sparks coming off the walls as something sharp and metallic was dragged along with it. The yellow light from the sparks showed the profile of something red and tall, with giant sharp teeth.

Foxy.

"Oh great, the pirate's here," the Puppet stated. "Foxy! Late as usual, I see."

"Ye be implyin' I wanted to come here at all," the fox snarled back.

"Rude as usual. I think I'll have to teach you some manners when I'm done here. Mr. Fitzgerald, just sentence the man over there so we can get this over with. Looks like I have an uppity privateer to deal with."

"More than that, ye bag o' wind. This be a mutiny."

The Puppet paused, then broke out into uproarious laughter. "Really? You're doing this now?"

"Aye."

"And what are the charges of this so called mutiny of yours, Foxy?"

"I think you know what you did."

The Puppet recoiled slightly as if Foxy had hit a nerve, but instantly recovered. "If you mean teaching your carrot-eating friend over there some respect, I think that hardly qualifies."

"No. A bit farther back."

The Puppet and Foxy began a long exchange of insults, the heads of the robots assembled whipping back and forth as each spoke. Fitzgerald used this distraction to crawl over to the man on the floor. He had stopped crying, but his slowly rising chest showed he was at least alive.

Jeremy shook the man. "Hey. You okay?" he said, then turned the man over and only barely muffled a scream. The man had been beaten black and blue. His face was so swollen that one of his eyes was covered, and his mouth was barely more than a mess of broken teeth and blood.

"What happened to you?"

The beaten man was only barely able to glance over to the Puppet. "He," he managed to mumble, before his eyes fluttered back and the man lapsed into semi-unconsciousness. Jeremy's attention turned back to the argument.

"I find _very_ amusing that you grew a conscious now of all times!" the Puppet shouted.

"Least I 'ave one! Ye're just a sick, empty clown."

"That's it!" the Puppet yelled. It looked up to Mangle and snapped its fingers again. "Lady Mangle, I'm forgoing the trial! Work your magic!"

Mangle didn't automatically comply and instead looked over to Foxy.

The pirate shook his head. "Don't do it, lass. We can stop this, _tonight." _

The Puppet glared at Mangle. "Lady Mangle, I gave you an order."

She continued to switch between Foxy and the Puppet, indecision flickering across her eyes.

Light white filled the Puppet's empty eyes. _"NOW!"_

Mangle looked down to the man on the floor and opened her mouth. With a screech, she dropped down and Jeremy only barely managed to get out of the way as she dropped on the man's side. With a single lunge, she latched onto the man's forehead with her teeth and pulled back. There was a sickening crunch as brain and bone were separated from the body.

"No!" Jeremy called out. He suddenly felt something behind him and turned around to see the Puppet was behind him, making his way over to the body. It picked picked him up and threw him aside like he was a rag doll.

He hit the wall, knocking the breath out of him. He heard an electronic growl and looked up too see the Puppet holding the limp body of the man up like a trophy.

"See, Foxy? I decide who lives and dies._"_

It shot its glowing eyes over to Jeremy. "Mangle, be a dear and kill him, will you?_" _

Mangle screeched, jumping up to the ceiling and began to climb her way over to Jeremy. Too much in pain to move, all he could do is clench his eyes shut as the whirring of her metal joints came closer and closer.

He heard her rusty jaw open in front of him, but the bite never came. Something huge whooshed in front of him, followed by a crash of metal, snarling, and hissing. He opened his eyes to see Foxy had sprinted over and dragged Mangle to the other side of the room. He raised Mangle with one of his hook, looking her in the eyes of her masked head.

"Are you really that far gone, lass?" he asked mournfully.

Mangle hissed back, her words forced and haphazard. "Me! Serve! Puppet! Forever!"

Foxy nodded. "Then I'm sorry, lass. _Forgive me._"

The pirate raised his hook and brought it down to the backside of her head. The hook penetrated her metal skull and the pirate pulled back, taking out a mess of electronics and wiring with it. The electronic screech of a dying thing shot through Jeremy's skull as she whipped around in fury. Foxy brought down his hook again, destroying even more sensitive microchips and transistors. Mangle started to sputter and jerk, and could not resist when Foxy grabbed her other head and pulled both ways. A shower of sparks erupted from her body as the pirate quite literally ripped her in half. Her screeches ceased, and the light in her endoskeletal eyes faded away.

Everyone else, including the Puppet, had been too shocked to intervene. With a sigh, Foxy turned back to the marionette and scowled. "That's be another death on ye hands," he stated.

The Puppet quickly regained its composure. "Really? I'm not the one who pulled her apart."

"Ye don't even care, do ye?" Foxy asked.

"Ho hum. TC, TF and TB, please dispose of our swashbuckling friend."

Toy Chica, Toy Freddy and Toy Bonnie replied instantly. Toy Chica and Bonnie ran over to Foxy, throwing out their arms to hit him. Foxy stepped aside but was caught by Toy Freddy running forward and tackling him, sending them both to the floor. The bear held Foxy down and began to clobber him with one huge punch after the other while the other two kicked his sides.

"Now, as for _you,"_ the Puppet said to Jeremy, "I'm rather disappointed in you, Mr. Fitzgerald. All you had to do was say a few simple words. Couldn't even do that. Guess I should have stuffed more of those kids in that suit."

The Puppet raised a hand to its mouth. "Oops!" it giggled. "Slip of the voice box."

Freddy stepped forward, hands balled up into shaking fists. "You..."

"Oh, don't act so surprised. I needed something to do besides order you idiots around. Unfortunately, Foxy ruined my little fake trial. Oh well. To be honest, Mangle was starting to get on my nerves. Girl just couldn't string together a sentence, you know?"

"You are sick," Freddy spit out.

The Puppet put his hands on his sides. "And what are you going to do about it, Mr. Fazbear? Steal my honey? Tell me not to start any forest fires? You're a fossil, Freddy. You can't do anything. And as soon as my associates over there finish up, I think they're going to have a word with you."

Then, crying. Not human crying, but electronic. Balloon Boy, who'd been silently watching the entire ordeal off in a corner, had balled up his hands over his eyes as he sobbed.

"Stop arguing!" he yelled. "Stop stop stop!"

"Hey now," the Puppet cooed, "It's going to be okay. Come here."

He patted his knee, and BB gave a few sniffles before hesitantly walking over to the thin thing and hugging him.

"I bet you're scared, huh?" he asked.

Balloon Boy nodded. "Uh huh."

"Well," he said, then placed his hands on the top of BB's round head. With a sudden jerk, he twisted the child robot's head in a half circle, sparks shooting out its broken metal neck. The Puppet let go and BB fell to his knees, then to the floor. "Now you're not."

Freddy screamed, charging forward with his fist raised. The Puppet bended backward like a rubber band, snapping up and headbutting Freddy. The bear stumbled back and Chica charged at the monster as well, both sets of her teeth wide open. The Puppet yawned, stepped back and grabbing Chica by her waist. He threw her aside and she smashed into the prize corner, sending the small shelves full of plushies scattering to the floor.

There was a screech on the other side of the room, and the Puppet looked over to see a very damaged Foxy standing over all three of his attackers. They were still, bodies broken and covered in gashes. Toy Freddy's head dangled on the end of Foxy's hook, before dropping it. It hit the ground with a thud and rolled away.

The Puppet frowned. "Aw, you broke my toys. Now I'll have to get new ones."

"N-no, you w-w-won't," Foxy replied. He raised his hook and ran forward, slashing at the Puppet's torso, but the Puppet simply bended away from the hook. Foxy followed with several more slashes, but the marionette dodged each and every one before grabbing Foxy by his waist and bending backwards, smashing his face down into the floor with a suplex.

The Puppet spun around and picked Foxy by the chest. "I'd say it's been fun, Foxy, but it hasn't. Goodbye." It reared back a fist to deliver the final blow, but was suddenly jerked back itself. Its grip of Foxy was lost and they both tumbled to the ground as the Puppet was dragged to the floor by some unseen force.

Bonnie. Bonnie had crawled over and grabbed the Puppet by the ankle completely unaware. The Puppet struggled to free itself, but Bonnie refused to let go.

"Let me go, you useless piece of trash!" it cursed, kicking Bonnie's concave face with his other leg. "Let me g—" he said again, before a metal leg came down on his thin shoulder. Foxy had pinned him down and crouched over him, hook raised.

"I'd say it's been fun, Puppet, but it hasn't" Foxy snarled. "Goodbye. We won't miss ye."

The white light returned to the Puppet's eyes as its calm demeanor shattered. _"_**_YOU VULPINE PIECE OF—IF IT TAKES ME A THOUSAND YEARS I'LL BE BACK! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL RIP EVERYTHING YOU HOLD DEAR TO PIECES! I'LL MAKE YOU REGRET YOU WERE NEVER MADE!"_**

"Too late for that," he said, rearing back. He brought down a fist on the Puppet's face. It screamed, and screamed again when Foxy slashed it with his hook. His brought down his fist again, alternating between the two faster and faster. The Puppet struggled, but couldn't throw off the weight of two combined robots. His enraged cries grew louder and louder, until they reached a deafening crescendo, then tapering off into broken gurgles. Slowly, the Puppet's stopped kicking, but Foxy continued to pour his anger into the Puppet's lifeless head until a hand caught his hook.

"Foxy!" Freddy shouted, "It's over!"

The pirate pulled his arm away from Freddy's grasp and continued to assault the Puppet's body, cursing and snarling all the while. Finally, Foxy's bloodlust faded and he stood up, helping Bonnie up as well.

He looked down on his handiwork. "It's o-o-over."

"What about him?" Bonnie asked, pointing over to Jeremy. He raised his arms defensively, sure they would kill him all the same.

Foxy walked over to the guard and leaned down, raising his eyepatch. "Lad, I w-want ye to be forgettin' anything ye s-saw here tonight. I suppose ye could be spreadin' the word, b-b-but they'd would think ye w-were a right lunatic."

Jeremy weakly nodded. "I—I can do that. What's going to happen to all of you?"

"I don't know," Freddy answered. "Whatever happens, we'll figure something out. You might want to stick around, though."

"Why?"

"If you left now, they'd think you caused all this. Best to stay and spin some story about some hoodlums breaking in here."

"Don't the cameras record everything?"

"No, that'd require the owners to actually shell out money. You're our only witness, pal."

Freddy ended the conversation and walked over to the body of Balloon Body. He want to his knees, cradling the broken animatronic in his hands. The others walked over to Freddy as well, and Jeremy took that as his cue to silently scoot back to his office and wait for morning, and the police report.

* * *

><p>"And that's how it happened?" Mike asked.<p>

Freddy nodded. "Yeah. The police believed Fitzgerald's story and took the Puppet and all the others as 'evidence'. We closed down pretty soon after that. They fixed us up, gave Bonnie his face back and we spend a few years in a warehouse before moving to the other pizzeria. I don't know how, but the company somehow convinced the police to give back half of Mangle's body. They rebuilt it for 'spare parts' but never managed to get it working, then just plopped it back in the storage area and forgot about it."

"Why didn't you guys get rid of it?"

Foxy stepped in. "I t-tore out of her b-brain, lad. To us, she was d-dead as dead could be." He looked over to Bonnie and frowned. "G-guess when _someone_ saw that she'd m-moved, _some_ c-crew didn't b-be botherin' to tell us."

Bonnie sighed. "Don't start, Foxy. Like I said, I thought I imagined it until now."

Mike decided to change the topic. "So what about the Puppet? Where did it come from?"

Freddy shrugged. "I dunno. Hell? The box just showed up one day. He took control almost instantly. It just got worse and worse until Foxy got fed up and tried to end it that night."

"What about the other mascots?"

"For whatever reason, he was able to make the newer ones just as sadistic as he was. _Especially _TC. Mangle had doubts, but in the end she still held on his every word too. The only one he didn't corrupt was Balloon Boy."

"Aye," Foxy added, "Mangle used to be a r-right proper lass. Not the smartest g-gal, but sweet as a rose. That that p-puppet showed up and it all w-w-went to the sharks."

"And now she's alive and wants to bring back the Puppet," Mike said, crossing his arms.

"Mangle d-died a l-l-l-long time ago, l-lad. Even before that night. What's c-crawling out there n-n-now ain't b-bein' her. Just a t-thing the Puppet turned her into."

"Still, how do you know it's going to try and revive the Puppet?" he asked Freddy.

"Because I don't think the Puppet was an animatronic like we are. It did some weird things. It could float, and disappear, and that white light—I don't know. It's was like his body was literally a puppet. When Foxy killed him, all he did was cut the strings. Before that night, Mangle had been spending a lot of time with it. No telling what he said to her. And the last thing she ever said..."

"You know what? It's working theory," Mike said, clasping his hands together. "So Mangle's alive and trying to bring back the Puppet, somehow. Any idea how she'd go about doing that?"

Freddy shrugged. "No idea. I think our best best would be to talk to others from that night. Jeremy and the other guy."

"He survived?"

"With half his head missing. Later, the company just covered the whole thing up and spun a tale to the managers how Foxy was the one who did it. Still blamed the drifter for the murders, though. We went along with it because, well, we didn't have the time to tell you back at the pizzeria. We never saw Mr. Fitzgerald after that night."

"You know, I don't have a phone in the cabin, but I do have a phone book. I'll try looking him up then sneak in town and call him on a payphone. Maybe he'll be able to shed some light on the rest. He might even know what the police did with the Puppet."

"It's a long shot, but go for it. Just be careful when yo leave, okay? Mangle's still out there and she is not happy."

"I will. Alright guys, stay put and I'll go look him up."

Mike turned around and headed back to the cabin, closing the door behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

If there was one thing Mike Schmidt excelled at, it was not being noticed. After their initial hostility, Mike remembered a few times when the Freddy and the gang simply forgot he was there, and startled them whenever he stepped out of his office. Or, more than once when Ralph entered the pizzeria and nearly had a heart attack when he saw him. Heck, if it wasn't for the fact that his chest currently felt like someone had tap-danced on it for a few hours, Mike was pretty sure that his entire situation was just one bad dream that he'd wake up from as soon as Chica shook him awake and asked for help in baking something toxic.

He rifled through the closet, looking for the most drab piece of clothing he could muster. Mostly a collection of splotchy camo jackets, he finally found a rather oversized, brown jacket to his liking. Along with that, a hunter's cap, and some black pants, he looked like any normal schmoe on the streets. He probably wouldn't get stopped by the cops in any case, but better safe then sorry. Dressed to his satisfaction, he walked over to the giant yellow phonebook placed on the desk, sat down and reached over to flip through his pages. He paused for a moment when he noticed two large sets of indentations on the cover, sinking into the book for a few dozen pages.

Bite marks.

"Really, Chica?" he asked. He quickly flipped to the 'f's and began to thumb down each page, saying a name aloud each dozen names or so. "Farma, Fenn, Fini, _Fitzgerald_!"

He checked the first name. Jeremy Fitzgerald, as plain as day. Mike looked up and scrounged around for some scrap paper. Finding none, he settled on ripping one of the pages from the phonebook and writing down the number with a nearby pen. He wrote it several times, just to make sure it was the right one.

Right. He'd call Fitzgerald. Assuming he didn't hang up as soon as he mentioned Mangle or Freddy or anything related to the pizzeria at all, Mike would then ask if he knew what Mangle did with the Puppet. Or Mangle. Or the "toy" versions of Freddy and co.

"Huh," Mike said. "This made a lot more sense a few minutes ago."

He shook his head. No, now was not that time for doubt. One way or the other, he'd stop that endoskeleton from whatever the hell it was planning. Freddy believed it was going to try and revive the Puppet, somehow. Mike wasn't so sure; if that endoskeleton really was "Mangle", it was probably just as clueless as he was on how to go about reviving the Puppet.

There was also the matter of Freddy and the others themselves. Even after all that had happened, Mike still suspected they hadn't told him the whole story. What really happened in 1987, maybe, but not why they were "alive".

Whatever. He'd cross that bridge when came to it. Since his friends had just undergone a diagnostic, he had a five month window to stop the thing before they shut back down and it almost certainly came for him. The memory of that monster's red eyes staring straight into his own made him reflexively pull his index finger as if he was holding the gun again, slightly confused at first when nothing fired. He remembered that he'd put Ralph's revolver back inside the glove box on the drive over.

Judging from Freddy's story and his own experience, at least the endoskeleton wasn't invincible. If it came down to it, he could always try running it over with the truck.

He had everything he needed. He checked the number one more time before stuffing it into his pocket and heading out. The others will still milling about, and waved to them as he walked over to the truck. Foxy was standing next to it, one eyebrow raised.

"Aye w-wouldn't be r-recommendin' ye b-b-be usin' the truck," he said.

"And why's that?" he asked.

Foxy pointed to the truck's ruined windshield with his hook.

Mike didn't get what Foxy was trying to say until a moment later, responding with a curt "oh."

"If the t-townsfolk b-be seein' that, they mi-mi-might start askin' questions."

Mike rubbed in chin in contemplation. "You're right. I still really want to call Fitzgerald. Hmmmmm."

He thought for a second before lighting up with realization. "Now that I think of it, I'm pretty sure there's a gas station down the road that has a payphone. It's sort-of within walking distance."

"Ye d-don't mean to be g-goin' alone, do you?"

"I'm pretty sure you following me would cause more problems than it'd solve."

"I'm n-not d-daft, lad. I'll st-st-stick to the w-woods, out of sight."

Foxy sound like he had made up his mind in any case. Mike shrugged, but still opened the door to the truck and leaned over, popping open the glovebox. He grabbed some spare change and the revolver. The trip would probably be uneventful, but it was nice to have insurance.

He leaned back out and placed the gun into the back of his pants, then turned to the others. "Alright. Me and Foxy are gonna head to the gas station. We'll be back in a few hours."

"Bye, Mike!" Chica called. Bonnie and Freddy simply waved, watching the fox and the guard slowly retreat and eventually disappear into the thickening trees and brush.

With their backs turned to the cabin, none of them noticed a gray blur swiftly move from the forest's canopy to the ground, scuttling away with unnatural speed.

Meanwhile, Mike's chest began to throb once more. While at first he was afraid he'd broken some ribs, now he believed he was fortunate enough to get away with some very nasty bruises. But that pain felt...different. Like how he felt someone who suffered from arthritis complained about the onset of a storm. Foxy kept close, his unpatched eye slowly scanning the trees.

They walked for a while further, until they finally reached the highway. Foxy had already wandered off to the side, barely visible behind the thick line of trees. He waved to Mike, and the guard nodded, stepping onto the asphalt and walking eastward.

A lonesome road stretched out in front of him, slowly disappearing over the horizon. The gas station in question was lay beyond that, and it would probably be evening before they even got back.

With a single sigh, Mike began to walk. A car would pass him every so often, and one person even offered him a lift. He declined, not wanting to leave Foxy behind in the woods. Besides the pirate, he had a really uneasy feeling that something else was following him, and he had a pretty good idea who.

* * *

><p>The sun had moved quite a bit in the sky as the gas station's price sign slowly appeared over a hill, along with the covered roof of the fuel pumps. Foxy had been rather quiet for most of the walk, mostly sharpening his hook as if anticipating trouble.<p>

Before the got any closer, he called over to the pirate. "Hey, you might wanna sit there. If you get any closer, people might see you."

Foxy nodded, and Mike resumed his walk towards the station. He walked past the pumps with no interruptions, and the cashier paid him barely any mind as a dull tone sounded as he opened the glass door. He looked around once, finding the blue payphone on the far side of the store, covered in scratches and crude graffiti.

He walked over, pulling out the piece of paper to read the number. After inserting a few coins into the slot, he carefully dialed Fitzgerald's number, and listened to the ring tone with slow breaths.

One ring. Nothing.

Two rings. Nothing.

Three rings. He probably wasn't even home.

Just as the fourth ring was about to end, Mike heard the phone being taken off the hook.

"Hello?" an older male voice answered.

Mike froze up. He honestly hadn't thought about what he'd say to Fitzgerald.

"Hello?" the voice asked again, with a twinge of impatience in his tone. Mike once again failed to give an answer, and he heard an annoyed grunt flow out form the speaker, followed by a soft _click._

He put the rest of his change into the phone and dialed the number again. This time, it was answered immediately, and from the sound of it, forcefully.

"_Hello?"_ the voice asked again, now downright cross.

"Hey, is this Jeremy Fitzgerald?"

The voice softened slightly. "Yeah? You a telemarketer?"

"Er, no."

"Then why are you calling?"

"Well—"

"Look, I'm not in the mood for crank calls right now. Goodbye."

Mike heard rustling on the other end of the line, and he raced to think of anything to catch Fitzgerald's attention.

"1987!" he shouted. The cashier briefly glanced over to Mike, then resumed reading her magazine.

He heard breathing on the other end, so he knew the man hadn't hung up. "What'd you say?"

"1987."

What sounded like a chair being scraped across the floor came out from the phone, and then a harried, long breath. "Who is this?"

"My name's Mike Schmidt."

"Who?"

"Uh, have you been watching the news?"

"Kind of, yeah."

"Did you hear anything about a certain pizzeria burning down?"

A beat. "Yeah?"

"I...worked the night shift there."

"The news said the manager and night shift guy died in the fire."

Mike covered the speaker and whispered his next sentence. "That's not entirely true. You used to work for Freddy Fazbear's, yeah? And then something happened in 1987 that made you quit?"

"If you don't want me to call the cops right this second, you're going to tell me how you know this."

"Freddy."

Another beat. "Keep talking."

"Look, I didn't bring much change with me for this payphone, so I'll have to keep it short. I was staying overtime, and the manager came in. Then...something came out of the backstage area, and killed him. Almost killed me. I started the fire so they wouldn't think I was the one who murdered him."

"What's the 'something' that killed him? Those fu—"

"Before you say anything, it wasn't the robots. Not really."

There was another long beat. Mike hoped he wouldn't run out of time before he could explain what was happening.

"Where are you?" he finally asked. "We're not going to discuss this over the phone."

"I'm, uh, at the gas station. The one a few miles east out of town. You know where it is?"

"Yeah. I'll be in the red car. _Goodbye._"

And with that, Fitzgerald hung up. It would likely be a good half-hour before the car in question showed up, so with a shrug he hung up the phone and walked back outside. He slowly scanned around the highway. He couldn't see Foxy, which was the whole point.

Still, he had to let him know that he was able to call Fitzgerald. He jogged across the highway, and carefully walked into the treeline. He called Foxy's name once, then saw the pirate slowly slide out from behind a tree.

"Ye able t-t-to call h-h-him?" he asked, while sharpening his hook. Once again, it was a mystery as to where he got the flint.

"Yep. He didn't want to talk over the phone, though. He said he'll come by in a red car and we'll see what happens from there."

"F-f-fair enough. I'll be k-keepin' watch here, th-then."

Mike nodded and turned around, walking back to the highway. He stepped across the road, heading back inside the store. He didn't want them to accuse him of loitering, so he bought a tabloid from the magazine rack, then sat down in the small diner area and read while he wait for the car in question.

Just as he was getting to the last article, which accused the queen of England of being a secret reptile in disguise, he saw a flash of red. He looked up to see a rather expensive crimson car pulling into the lot. He saw the door open, and out stepped a rather beleaguered-looking man in a white shirt and tie. The man looked a bit older than Mike, with with just barely graying hair and a slight tan. He shut the door and stepped inside the gas station, looking around intently.

Mike raised his hand, not looking up from the magazine. He caught the man's eye and he walked over, hesitantly sitting down in the filthy seat and leaning in.

"Mike Schmidt?"

"Yeah."

"Good. We'll talk in the car."

"But—"

"I was home for lunch and had to take the rest of the day off for our little meeting. I said: we'll talk in the car."

Mike didn't want to argue. He set the magazine down, following the man to the red sports car. After they had both sat inside, he turned the ignition. The car hummed to life, and they backed up and turned around, gliding out of the parking lot. Mike did his best to wave from the window to where he thought Foxy was, letting him know everything was okay.

They drove for a few minutes, until they pulled off to the side of the road. The car went silent as the man twisted the key, then turned to Mike with a glare.

"In 1987 I was a security guard for Fazbear Entertainment. On November 16th of that same year, I stopped being a security guard for Fazbear Entertainment. And apparently you know why. How?"

"Well, you weren't the only witness."

"The only other man there that night died. I was there when it happened."

"You weren't the only _human_ witness," Mike corrected.

Fitzgerald rolled his eyes. "What, did one of the robots tell you?"

"Yes, actually."

The man opened his mouth to shoot back some retort, but his reply was cut short as realization washed over his face.

"Who?" he demanded.

"Freddy."

"The older one, I'm guessing. The new one had a mean streak a mile long. All the toys ones did."

"That's the gist of it, yeah."

Fizgerald stared ahead for a moment, then resumed his questions. "So what do you want? You set the pizzeria on fire, then come running to me? If you're hoping I'll protect you just because we both—"

Mike waved his hands defensively. "Nononono. It's—a lot more complex than that. Look, do you remember the Puppet?"

He groaned. "I still get nightmares about that thing. What of it?"

"Do you remember what happened to it after that night in November? Like, what the police or the company did with it? Or any of the toy animatronics?"

Fitzgerald crossed his arms. "What happened that night was sort of a wake-up call for me. Almost dying for a minimum wage job? No thanks. So I went back to college, and managed to land myself a pretty nice career."

"In what?"

"IT."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Right after it happened, I figured the robots that got wrecked were sold off for scrap or something. But a few years ago, I got curious. Did some searching. Not all of it was entirely legal, if you catch my drift. Anyway, after the pizzeria closed down the first time, the police kept the wrecked robots for a while, then actually did just send them to the city dump. As far as I know, they're still there. Except that one that was basically a skeleton anyway. For whatever reason, the company sued to keep it for 'spare parts' or some crap."

"Foxy ripped her in half, right?"

Jeremy nodded. "Yeah," he said, the raised a finger. "But get this: that long, skinny bastard? The police van that was gonna take it to the station for evidence crashed. Like, rolled five times on the highway and then wrapped itself around a tree. Then caught on fire."

"And the Puppet?"

He cleared his throat. "The official report was 'evidence assumed destroyed in the crash'. But they didn't find _anything._ No metal, no plastic, not one chip of paint. And here's the part where...my searching wasn't entirely legal. The cops in the van didn't die from the crash, or even the fire."

"What from?"

"The coroner noted crushed windpipes on the driver and the passenger. They just kind of ignored it since the crash itself was so bad, but normally they'd give only one verdict. Strangulation."

"You don't think—"

"Before we go any further, I need to know what's going on with you. From what I can tell, you're apparently on speaking terms with the older animatronics. How, and why did you burn down the pizzeria?"

Mike sucked in a new breath of air. "After I spent a few weeks at the place and refused to quit, I actually started getting along with them pretty well."

Jeremy simply listened. "Alright."

"Well, one night they told me they'd be turning off for the rest of the night to do some kind of system diagnostic."

"Kay."

"That night, we got robbed. I ended up having wrestle one guy over his taser, and I got shot by the other one. He would have killed me if Freddy and the others hadn't 'woken up'."

"I heard about that. They never found the other robber."

"You can probably guess why. Anyway, when I was fighting the first guy over his taser, I ended up shocking this endoskeleton that'd been sitting in the room for years. One of the halves of Mangle they tried to repair, apparently."

"Uh huh...?"

"Fast forward to really early this morning. During the night I find this old costume. I call the manager so he can haul it off. When he gets there, the endoskeleton busted out of the room and attacked us."

"And then what?"

"It bit his face off. Beat the hell out of me. The guys were doing another diagnostic and only just were able to wake up again to save me. I was pretty sure I'd get blamed for Ralph dying, so I...burned down the pizzeria. Apparently, the cops bought it. Now I'm holed up at my dad's old cabin with the others while we think of what to do next."

Jeremy held up his hand. "Wait wait wait. They _followed_ you?"

"I guess? I mean, they're my friends. Hell, Foxy followed me to the gas station to make sure that thing didn't ambush me on the way here."

"What the—is he out there right now?"

"I think so," Mike said, opening the car door against Jeremy's protests. He looked down the highway both ways before shouting out into the treeline. "Hey, Foxy! You there?"

He heard some rustling, and they both saw a red fox head peek out from behind a tree quite a ways behind him. Foxy waved his hook a few times before retreating back into hiding.

Jeremy simply stared. "We were going like seventy miles an hour. How—"

"You've never seen Foxy move," Mike replied with a half-laugh. "But uh, about the Puppet. Freddy thinks that somehow, that endoskeleton...Mangle's going to try and find the Puppet. Bring him back, somehow."

"How?"

"I didn't think to ask. Finding you's been my top priority. I was hoping you'd know where the Puppet was, but considering it just straight-up vanished..."

Mike's well-dressed counterpart leaned his head back in the vinyl chair and blew air. "God help me. Look, I can't guarantee anything, but when I found out what happened to that van the first time I went delving, I pretty much stopped my digging right then and there. Didn't sleep for like three days. I'll...do some more digging. Where's this cabin you're at?"

Mike pointed behind them. "A good ways back that way. You'll see turn off the main highway that has this old rotted house next to it. Go down that road, and you'll find the cabin."

"Right. I guess if you sit tight there for a few days, I'll come back with whatever I scan scrounge up."

"Yeah. Wait, the road to the cabin is pretty rough. You sure this car can make it?"

"I have a truck, too. Don't want to be a jerk, but you're probably gonna have to walk back. I'm risking enough as it is with a guy in my car that's supposed to be dead."

"Yeah, good point. I guess I'll see myself out."

Mike opened the car door, but as he turned around to close it, Jeremy pointed at him. "And hey, we never talked, and we never met, right?"

"Ri**—**"

Mike's words trailed off as he saw something rise over the horizon. A huge column of smoke and fire, billowing out into a vaguely mushroom shape as it rose higher and higher. Jeremy saw it too, and slowly got out of the car to stare at the fireball behind them.

The sound came a few seconds later. A low, deep thud.

"The gas station," Jeremy breathed. He turned to Mike. "Get in!"

Mike jumped back inside as Jeremy hit the ignition. The car's engine roared to life and he stamped the pedal. Smoke poured out from the car's tires as it quickly turned around and headed toward the inferno. Behind the trees, Foxy kept pace an even pace alongside the sports car, hook raised.

Blatantly ignoring the speed limit, the flaming remnants of the station appeared into view it just a few minutes. There was little left, save the blackened frame of the store, burning vehicles and—

"No," Mike whispered.

In front of the red glow of fire and black columns of smoke, he could see a figure standing amongst the flames, yellow suit glowing in front of the fire. It slowly turned around. Two eyes, one glowing red and the other dark and nonfunctioning, stared at them.

Even when partly obscured by its ill-fitting Golden Freddy head, he could see its metal lips move up and down to its electronic voice. Over the roar of the flames, he made out the words.

"It's me."

"No!" Mike screamed at the figure. He slammed his fists on the dashboard as it began walking toward them.

"Jesus Christ!" Jeremy shouted, throwing the car into reverse.

The endoskeleton screeched, throwing its arms wide and charging the car. It moved with unnatural speed, coming upon them before they'd even turned around. As it raised one fist to smash the windshield, they both felt a sold _thunk_ that accompanied a dent appearing on the roof of their car. The endoskeleton looked up, and screeched once more before Foxy's hit it square in the chest with a dropkick. Foxy fell out of view behind the front of the car, and the endoskeleton was thrown several feet back. It scrambled up quickly, but paused when Foxy rose to his feet, hook raised.

It let out a final screech before running into the flames, out of sight.

Foxy turned to them both. "What are y-ye waitin f-fer? Get outta here!" he shouted with a wave of his hook. He turned back, sprinting into the fire after the monstrosity.

He didn't have to tell Jeremy twice. He put the car into drive and flew down the highway. After a few seconds, he slammed on the brakes and turned to Mike.

"Get out."

"What?"

"I'll stay behind. Tell the cops something hit my roof. If they find you, they'll know you started that fire. Hell, they'll probably think you did this one. Get out! Get back to the cabin!"

The former guard weakly nodded and scrambled out of the car. As soon he shut the door, the car once again turned around on a dime and headed back to the inferno.

He ran towards the treeline, hoping to be out of sight before the authorities arrived. When he reached the rows of bark, he took one last look at the carnage before heading into the woods.

Somewhere, not too far away, a metallic roar echoed through the forest.


End file.
